


he says we're fucked up (but we're not the same)

by LeafStitch



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Canon-Typical Violence, Depressed John Egbert, Dirk Strider's Issues, Fix-It of Sorts, Getting Back Together, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, M/M, Minor Calliope/Roxy Lalonde, Minor Dave Strider/Karkat Vantas, Nightmares, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Nonbinary Roxy Lalonde, Past Lives, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Epilogue, Trans Dirk Strider, Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, now with a coda!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:15:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 70,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22978978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeafStitch/pseuds/LeafStitch
Summary: At a party he doesn't want to be at, Dirk Strider runs into an old flame. What starts as an awkward conversation between a hermit and an elite socialite turns into a question of what it means to hurt, what it means to be normal, and what the hell is wrong with them.Jake breathes out a weird golden fog every time he lies. Their good friends have become heartless corporate machines. And Dirk can't stop getting these awful headaches, and flashes of memories that shouldn't be his.("Pre-epilogue" Dirkjake hurt/comfort. Exploring Dirk and Jake's respective powers and postgame situation. They deserve to heal)
Relationships: Jake English/Dirk Strider
Comments: 70
Kudos: 122





	1. to the fear of breaking down

**Author's Note:**

> title/chapter headings from homecoming by green day.
> 
> started as an RP on mxrp with [heroboof](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heroboof)

You’re at a party.

You hate parties. They’re too loud, too hot, too much. 

You’re at a party.

It’s like every other house party you’ve been to: the lights are dim, the music is bass-heavy, there’s a haze in the air from sex-sweat and booze. You’re stone cold sober, and can’t make yourself have a good time even though you’re trying. You’ve been here for an hour.

Some college friends invited you. They never pried about your past, so they never found out who you were. They asked you why you dropped out, and you had to say that college was just too stressful for you. They understood. You were a young student, after all, only seventeen when you started. No wonder it was stressful, you were still growing up.

That wasn’t the reason. You don’t tell them the real reason.

You’re considering leaving. You already talked to your friends, told them you were doing freelance stuff, and they mostly believed you. They didn’t believe that you were “fine.” You came here to clear your head, and yet. 

You take a deep breath, and get up from the couch. Your truck is a few streets away. You didn’t need to learn how to drive, but you own a pickup truck now, and live in a small house. You’ve… become a bit of a hermit. You’ll admit that. You haven’t spoken to your family in a while. Or your friends. You miss them, and you’re avoiding them. Your head hurts. That haze around the party is starting to get to you. The lights seem too bright. 

“Dirk!!”

And the last person you wanted to see is here. You came here to clear your head. And yet.

Jake fucking English is here. He approaches you with a grin; he’s glowing, clearly in his element. The party is alive around you, vibrant, fun. The colors feel deeper. He’s wearing a pair of short shorts and a tight t-shirt. You haven’t seen him in a while. He looks good. 

“Didn’t think I’d see you here, buddy!” Jake says, beaming at you, “How are you! What have you been up to!”

“The usual.” You wave your hand vaguely. Your truck is only a few streets away. You could get there pretty quickly. But sure, you’ll talk to him. He’s a friend. It’s been a while. “I’ve been gettin’ these wild headaches. Came to clear my head.” You pause, and sigh. “I didn’t think I’d see you here either, Jake.”

“I’m afraid I can’t help you much in the way of headaches. The only cure I’ve got is a supply of giggle water and that doesn’t always work!” he laughs. Behind him, a gaggle of partygoers laugh as well, as if someone just told a hilarious joke The party seems better than usual. You offer a tense chuckle in return. 

“I don’t know what good that’ll do me, but I wouldn’t mind a drink.” You shrug, and Jake grins. He turns towards a table, grabbing you a bottle of something. You take a swig without a second thought. It’s not bad. Generic. You glance at the table; there aren’t any other bottles on it. You’re going to wind up poisoned. You look back at him. “What are you doing here?”

Jake laughs, but he’s a little more tense. “Ah, well. Sometimes I just pop in!” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “No one ever really seems to mind! I think they rather like it when I show up announced, actually.” 

“Showing up unannounced can be either a blessing or a curse.” You raise your eyebrows, but take another sip of the drink. “I didn’t expect you to be much of a partyer, but you seem right at home.”

Jake’s smile half-drops. He scans over the crowd, shrugging with one shoulder. There’s something distant in his eyes. It scares you. 

“Well,” he says, and the atmosphere gets heavier, “They seem to like it well enough.”

“You look tired, Jake,” you say, half-defeated. You regret it immediately. He tenses. You came here to get your mind off things. You take another long gulp of the generic liquor, put the bottle down, and sigh. _And yet._ “Are you here alone?”

“I could ask you the same.” He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t meet your eyes, still scanning the crowd. No one has seemed to notice the two of you. “I’m sure someone will pick me out by the end of the night.”

You frown. That makes your heart hurt. You take his hand without thinking. His fingers curl around yours. “Come with me,” you say, “You’re not having fun. We can… get away from all this.”

“I don’t see why that’s a problem?” Jake quirks an eyebrow at you.

“I mean, people usually go to parties to have a good time.” You shrug. “Unless there’s something you’re trying to forget.” There is something you’re trying to forget. You hoped some nice boy would bring you home, tonight. That some nice boy could get you away from your thoughts for a few hours.

“I…” Jake looks away. He almost tries to make himself smaller, despite being a head and a half taller than you. “...I’m fine, Dirk.”

You tug at his hand; he looks at you. You nod in the direction of the kitchen. “Come with me,” you say.

He doesn’t resist.

You lead him through the house, careful, weaving around the other partygoers. Maybe you’re lucky. They’re a little too drunk to realize who those two young adults pushing past them are. Through the kitchen, through the door, onto the back porch. It’s quiet out here, cooler than inside the house, and it’s a relief. Crickets chirp. A firefly or two glint in the grass. Jake shivers, and looks confused to be outside. _That you didn’t lead him to a bedroom,_ you think, and you hate that the thought even crossed your mind. You bring him to a small bench on the porch, and sit. You don’t want to let go of his hand.

“How much alcohol have you had?” you ask quietly.

“Enough that I shouldn’t be driving!” In the dim fairy lights ringing the porch rail, you can see that Jake is trying far too hard to look comfortable. And he’s breathing out a golden, shimmering fog with every word.

“Look at me.” You haven’t seen Jake in a long time. You haven’t been close to him in much longer. And you’re probably drunk. You’re dizzy, floating. You reach out with your other hand, fingertips to his cheek, and tilt his face towards you. You’re not wearing your shades, he should be able to meet your eyes. He doesn’t. “What’s wrong?”

He’s looking everywhere but your face, breathing out more of that fog. You furrow your brows, trying to shake off that dizzy feeling, trying to stay grounded. You brush a lock of hair behind his ear. “Please, tell me.”

Jake starts to say something, but freezes. You let your hand fall back to your side. He forces a chuckle. “Difficult question there, isn’t it?” he asks, staring at his lap. 

“The most difficult,” you say, eyes still on him, “I don’t know what you’re feeling. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.” The lights feel brighter than usual; everything feels washed in an artificially good feeling. You sigh, squeezing Jake’s hand.

“You know me, Dirk,” he says, “I’ve never been much of a thinker.” He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes, and looking up towards you. He still doesn’t meet your eyes, and his breath is unsteady. The fog billows from his mouth like smoke trapped in his lungs. It’s starting to worry you. It’s clearly a power of his, some kind of Hope thing. You squeeze his hand again.

“You know that’s not true.”

“I suppose so,” he says, “But it’s not like I think about anything useful!” He laughs again, one that sounds as artificial as the light around you feels, light and cheerful and strained, “That was always your and Jane’s job!” That doesn’t sound quite right. You had all been mindless kids. You’re not going to correct him, this time. “How is Janey, by the way?” You raise an eyebrow. “We don’t talk as much as we really should.” 

Bold. That’s a straight lie, and the both of you know it. Jane’s name wouldn’t be on all the Skaianet ads you’ve been seeing if they hadn’t been talking.

“She’s fine. Running her company.” _Running_ your _company._ You pull away, leaning back and running a hand through your hair. Jake’s been having issues, you’ve been having issues, everyone’s been having issues. Everyone has something going poorly for them. Something bad is coming. You can feel it. You sigh, rubbing your face and looking up at Jake. “Would you rather be somewhere else?” 

“Somewhere else! Where else would I rather be? The party has been just dandy!” _Anywhere but here_ , his posture says. He coughs out another cloud of fog.

“You need someone to talk to,” you say, leaning forward, “You can’t be cheery all the time.” 

“I’m not cheery all the time!” Jake says, “Sometimes I’m asleep!” He laughs, like he’s just told a joke that hasn’t landed, and he’s trying to encourage everyone else to laugh. It’s just the two of you, though. You don’t have to laugh. Jake’s hand is still on the bench. You gently cover it with yours, curl your fingers around, and stand.

“If I leave, will you come with me?” Jake tenses. “We can go somewhere quiet.” You glance at the kitchen door, and back to Jake. “...You don’t have to impress me.”

“...” He finally looks at you, meets your unshaded eyes. He looks absolutely terrified, haloed in golden mist. “...Okay,” he says.

“Thank you,” you say, giving him a soft, encouraging smile. He doesn’t smile back. He stands, and you start to pull him back through the kitchen door, back through the party. He goes with you. Out the front door, onto the lawn, down a few streets. It’s cool enough out to see your breath as you walk, though Jake’s is still glittering gold. You keep his hand in yours the entire time.

The moon is waxing. The two of you reach your truck, orange paint muted in faint light. You drop his hand and open the passenger door, motioning for him to get in. He gets in without hesitation. You go around to the driver’s side, glancing over at him as you turn the keys in the ignition. He’s stock still and nearly shaking.

“Jake, is this okay?” you ask. He looks at you for a half second, before looking away again. “I don’t want you to be scared of me.” Maybe he should be scared of you. Maybe you don’t deserve him here.

“I’m not scared of you,” he says, but the golden fog is rolling out of him in clouds. You take a deep breath as you start to drive, and roll down the window just slightly to prevent him from completely hopeboxing your car.

“You’ve been trying to get a handle on your powers, right? How’s that going?” You keep the radio low, a soft buzz in the background as you drive. Your shoulders relax as you take another deep breath, but you keep your eyes on the road.

“Not particularly well.” Jake looks out the window, as you drive through a suburb. “It’s always involuntary.” Well, that makes sense. 

“I always thought it was tied to how you were feeling,” you say casually, turning onto a busy street. The lights are still too bright out here. It’s late, but you could have worn your shades. 

“I can’t really control it,” he says, gazing out at the still-open coffee shops and gas stations, “It just happens, whether I want it to or not.”

You hum quietly, nodding. Slowly, you take his hand again. He freezes as you make contact, but then relaxes- just slightly.

“What is it?” you say, looking at your joined hands and back to his face. He looks away from you.

“It’s nothing.”

You turn off the busy road and onto a small side street.

“I don’t believe you,” you say, soft, quiet, sad.

Jake takes a deep breath. “I don’t think I do either,” he admits, soft, sad, vulnerable. He’s not the bombastic partygoer you met earlier. Offices and shops turn to houses and turn even still into trees. You’re not far from home. You stay relaxed.

“That’s okay.” You squeeze his hand gently. “I know how you feel.”

“Well, that makes one of us,” he mutters, and you chuckle softly.  
  
“I know how you feel, in not knowing,” you say.

“You don’t know how you feel either? Or you don’t know how I feel?”

“I know how it feels to not know how you feel,” you clarify, “I know how it feels to feel lost.”

Beside you, Jake goes quiet. He stays quiet until you pull into your driveway, deep in the woods, away from the lights and bustle of the town. You park, get out of the car. Go around, open the door for him. He climbs out, gold fog billowing out of the car and around him, sticking to his clothes. You close the door. You lead him into the house. He follows. 

Your place isn’t huge. It isn’t very big at all, certainly no Skaianet mansion or Crockercorp estate. One-and-a-half bath, nice kitchen, two-bedroom house, currently being leased by a nice young man named Dirk Walker. You hang up your coat and take off your shoes. Jake takes his shoes off. He doesn’t have a jacket. His isn’t wearing much of anything, really, shorts barely enough fabric to be called pants and shirt a size or two too small. You lead him into the kitchen, motion for him to sit, and grab him a glass of water. He looks out of place at your table. You place the glass down, and sit across from him.

“You may not know what’s wrong, and that’s fine,” you say, and he shifts in place, “Even if you just word-dump at me, I’ll listen.”

“Well, I just…” he sighs, “I’ve been trying to do what I’m good at. That seems like what everyone else has been doing, right?”

“I dunno.” You frown. “I think I’ve been mostly avoiding things.”

“But you’re good at that. And you’re working on your robots and Jane’s at her company and Roxy’s been doing fairly well with programming and such.”

“You also run a business,” you point out.

Jake laughs, no mirth behind it. “Barely. Jane practically owns it at this point, she’s bought out so many of the sub-brands.”

“You’re not--” It hits you. Your heart stops. Your heart _hurts_. “Oh, Jake…”

He freezes, before forcing his posture into something causal and laughing. The fog rolls out of him still, thick and near-choking. 

“I’m not sure what you’re getting at, but I don’t think we’re on the same page, chum!” he manages, letting out another nervous chuckle.

“Jake…” Seeing him like this aches. “You’ve been doing what you’re good at.”

He sips at his water.

“You and I both know I’ve always been something of a bimbo.”

“So you’ve taken to trying to please people.” You run a hand through your hair, stand, and start pacing. “You think it’s the only thing you’re good at.”

“Of course I have,” he says bitterly, “It _is_ the only thing I’m good at.” He stands, placing his half-full glass in the sink. He stands there as you pace. “I’d be happy for a hug, if you were so inclined to need such comfort.”

You hate his wording, but force yourself still and look up at him. Did he get taller? Fuck. “Would that be okay with you?”

“I’m the one offering, Dirk.”

You hold him close, head on his shoulder, and he holds you back. It hurts, seeing him like this. You can’t help but think you may have made him like this. It terrifies you. 

“You don’t have to pretend like you’re okay,” you murmur, “Never worked when I did.” He freezes, his arms still wrapped around you. 

“Well, no,” he says, “It’s not working to make me happy. But it fools enough people enough of the time. You’re a bit of an exception.” 

You take a deep breath. You don’t want to let him go. “I don’t know what else to tell you. You can relax here. You don’t have to pretend.” He shivers. “I want you to feel safe, Jake.”

“I’m fine, Dirk,” he forces, “I’m alright.”

“You’re not,” you say. Your words come out before you can stop them. “I- I know that your _thing_ is believing in something hard enough and it coming true. You convince enough people that you’re fine, and they’ll believe it. But them believing it doesn’t help. It doesn’t make you believe it.”

“I don’t _need_ to,” he says, “It doesn’t _have_ to be real for me. So long as I’m zozzled enough to put my head aside I can just focus on doing some good with the only real assets I’ve got.”

Your heart shatters. You pull back, cupping his cheek, looking him in the eye. “I want to help you,” you say softly, “I don’t know how, but I want to. I miss you.” He looks away, wincing like you just stabbed him in the gut.

“You deserve better.”

“And you deserve better than me. You always have.”

“No, Dirk, I really mean it,” he protests, “I’m only good for one thing.” He pulls out of your grasp, starting to breathe out that damn fog again. He starts to turn towards the door. 

“Jake--” You reach out, catching his arm. Your voice feels thick in your throat. “Please. Don’t run. Stay with me.” Jake doesn’t pull away, but keeps breathing that dreamy-happy fog. You try to resist, keeping your eyes on him. “You can’t convince me things are fine. I- Things have never been fine. You don’t have to try to make me believe it. Please. Don’t run from me. I won’t hurt you.”

“You know what? You’re right,” Jake says. He doesn’t look at you, words harsh. “I’m _not_ happy and I don’t think I ever _will_ be. But I’m _useful._ At least I’m useful. At least I can be that.”

“Useful to what end? To let someone else take a break from their thoughts? To make a party more fun, since you’re trying to convince everyone you’re not miserable?”

“ _Any_ end. Any reason. What I want has no place in it.” His voice trembles. Jake himself stays still, not looking at you, still breathing fog out like you’re still outside. You slowly move, taking both of his hands and getting into his line of sight.

“Do you want to lie down?” you say, “I’m not going to make you do anything. I don’t want to do anything you don’t want to. I just want to help you, however you let me.” Jake looks confused. 

“Dirk, I’m not _worth_ that.”

You stare at him.

“You’re not _worth_ that?” you say, incredulous, “You’re one of the creators of the _entire universe.”_

“And it’s not like I really did much!” He huffs, looking around briefly before his eyes settle on you again. “I just… sat around and looked pretty.”

“That’s not true and you know it,” you insist, “You explored, you killed monsters, you _saved my life_.” You squeeze his hands on that one. “ _Multiple_ times. Even--” You look away. You shouldn’t be this emotional. You’re not like this. “Even when I didn’t want you to. And I’m _grateful._ ” You glance back up at him, and find him staring right back, eyes shining. He near-violently looks away, scrunching his face up. “And I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I ever made you think you weren’t good for anything but looking good. I’m sorry for everything the AR said and when I didn’t defend you. I don’t know what happened after we went godtier. I got catapulted into space and you got captured. I don’t know what happened to you on Derse, but I’m sorry that I couldn’t have been there to help. I should have said something when Vriska took to insulting you at every turn. I should have _been there_.”

The fog drifting off around Jake has stopped. He turns back to you, steadying himself. He squeezes your hands back.

“Oh, Dirk,” he says, “You- you never made me think that. Not for a moment. It was actually--” He stops, biting the inside of his cheek, freezing up. His eyes dart around, his breathing goes shallow, and the fog starts to billow from him again, clouds nearly opaque. “Dirk, it’s- it’s fine,” he manages eventually, “It’s alright. Besides--” he forces a soft chuckle, “--apparently Vriska was just like that.”

“But you didn’t deserve it.” He lets out another sad chuckle, gazing at you.

“Things were already over between us, anyhow,” he says.

“I didn’t want them to be.”

“Me neither,” he sighs, “But it was for the best. You weren’t happy.” 

You suddenly find yourself five years in the past. The smell of icing invades your senses. Lights flash before you, leaving an afterimage burned into your vision. You blink, and it’s just Jake in front of you.

“Do you remember what happened, when we broke up? Do you remember the circumstances?” you ask, trying to keep your own breathing steady.

“I wasn’t answering your texts. I was- avoiding you,” he admits, “I was avoiding everything.”

“Not that. When we were--”

“You mean during the thing we agreed never to speak of again?” The four of you did agree on that, didn’t you? 

“Yeah.” You blink a few times, trying to keep yourself in place. The room feels like it’s swimming. Jake’s hair flashes green in your memory, his skin too light, his smile too wide. You can still feel the soda sticky in your hair, orange and cloying. You can still remember your friends all yelling in unison. “That. I still- I blame myself for that. For all of that happening. I felt so--” You considered punching your best friend in the face. How could you? “--so _powerless_. There was nothing I could have done to stop it, I couldn’t think, I couldn’t breathe, I was terrified out of my mind, but I still blame myself for not being able to get you all out of it, or for letting it happen in the first place.” Jake doesn’t say anything, though he shifts in place. “And I didn’t want to hurt you,” you continue, “I blamed myself for not loosening up enough to enjoy it, to have a good time. I- fuck, this is- this is stupid, I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.” Shame crushes around you like a vice. You shouldn’t have eaten any of the cake at Rose and Kanaya’s wedding. You shouldn’t have let Roxy kiss you. 

“No, it’s alright,” Jake says, breaking you out of your thoughts, “I actually… understand.”

“I’m sorry,” you say automatically.

“Why?” He tilts his head at you. You shrug, pathetic.

“I don’t know,” you say, “Can… can we sit down?”

“Alright.” Jake squeezes your hands again. “Here on the floor?”

“Couch, preferably.”

“Right-o.” He pulls you towards the couch. You swallow hard, blinking still. Forcing the feeling of sugar on your skin out of your mind. You were supposed to be helping Jake. You put yourself in this position. This is all your fault. You sit on the couch, pulling your knees up tight to your chest, tugging at your hair. You pull a strand or two loose, and are more relieved than anything to find it blond. Jake sits beside you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. 

“Something like that happened to you. Didn’t it.” Your voice is flat. The way it was during the game. The way you forced yourself to talk when you got too out of control.

“...Something like it, I suppose.” You don’t look at him, chin on your knees.

“You don’t have to tell me,” you say, leaning against him, “I understand.” He shivers, curling up against you. “We’re okay. Fucked up, but okay.” You pause, and change your mind. “...We’re alive, at least.”

“I think we’re definitely alive,” Jake says, letting out another defeated chuckle.

“Definitely alive,” you agree, “...I meant it. When I said I missed you. I miss being close to you.”

“I miss you too.” It’s so close to the words you want to hear. “All the time.” His head is pressed to your shoulder. You loosen up the smallest bit, and find his hand again. He twines his fingers with yours immediately. 

“I--” You stop, and bite the inside of your cheek. Jake doesn’t want to hear that. It’s too forward. Too true. It’ll just get you hurt. “I’m sorry. That’s it.”

“I’m sorry, too.” He presses his face to the side of your head, and you shiver as he noses at your hair. There’s an energy to the room. It’s too much. You close your eyes, and feel a tear slip out one corner. You don’t acknowledge it, and swallow again. You haven’t been this close to a person in- in too long. You’ve been alone for a long time. Most of your life. “I miss you,” he says again, “I miss you and I’m sorry.”

“I l--” You stop yourself again. He doesn’t want to hear it. “...Never mind.” 

Slowly, carefully, Jake wraps his arms around you.

“Can I say it, then?”

Your voice is little more than a whisper. “Please.”

“I love you.” It comes out as a gasp. There’s no fog, no clouds of him faking it or pretending to be happy. He says it like it hurts. “I love you, Dirk.”

“I love you,” you say, “More- more than you could imagine.” You uncurl fully, holding close to Jake, face buried in his shoulder. He holds you just as tight. Your breath hitches and you try to hold it in, but your shoulders still shake. This isn’t how you thought your night would go. You pull away enough to look at him. “...Can I kiss you?”

Jake sniffles, resting his forehead against yours. “Yes. You can. Please, do.” You close the distance, kissing him softly, gently. It’s all you can manage, you think. You’d always imagined a reunion kiss would be something passionate, wild, an old flame rekindled. This feels like any other kiss. Not that you thought you’d get to be this close to Jake ever again. You pull away after a few seconds, going back to just holding him.

“Thank you.”

He shifts, slightly, pressing his face to your shoulder. “No, thank _you_ ,” he says, and you feel half-laugh, half-sob well up in your chest.

“We should…” You sigh, shrugging. “I don’t know. Lie down, I guess. I- I’m tired. And I want to hold you.”

“I’d like that,” Jake says, but then he tenses, “...Just to sleep?” There’s a note of fear in his voice. 

“Just to sleep,” you assure him, “Just to be close.”

“I’d like that,” he says again, more confident, “I’d… _really_ like that.” You manage a soft smile, kissing Jake’s cheek.

“I’d like that too.”

He kisses your cheek back. “Shall we?”

“Let’s.” Slowly, you extract yourself from Jake’s arms and stand. You hold out a hand to him. You don’t want to let him go. He takes it with little hesitation. You lead him upstairs, checking back every few seconds to make sure this is real, to make sure you haven’t overstepped any boundaries. The bedroom door creaks open. Your bed isn’t made, and the rest of the room is a mess, but you have a system. You don’t have to keep all of your projects in here anymore. 

You break away from Jake and beeline for the dresser, throwing on a pair of pajama pants. Jake’s not wearing all too much; you should have something big enough in here for him to wear, shirts that you practically swim in, athletic shorts that you have to tie super tight when the elastic is too loose. You find something, finally, sweatpants and an overly large shirt for the college you briefly attended, and look back to him. He’s facing away, starting to undress as well. You clear your throat, offering him the clothes. “Got these, if you want somethin’ to wear. I got extra.”

He turns around, looking surprised. 

“Oh! Thank you. I was just going to sleep in my briefs.” A puff of golden fog escapes him. 

“I just. Thought you’d be a little more comfortable with something on.” You glance away, rubbing the back of your neck.

“You’re very right, actually, I very much would.” 

“I’ll just… be over here until you’re done.” You hand the pajamas over, quickly turning away to set the bed. You should have cleaned up, but you didn’t know you’d be having a guest. You hear cloth rustling behind you.

“Alright,” Jake says. You turn around; he fits so well into your organized chaos. Like he’s meant to be here. You draw him over and kiss his cheek, feeling yourself smile softly. 

“Do you want to lie down now?” You’re… in love with him. That’s what it is. That’s what it’s been the entire time. You want to see him thrive.

“I…” He pauses, seems hesitant. It’s more intimate than you’ve experienced in a long while. “Yes.”

“I’m here. It’s just me.” You pull Jake towards the bed, keeping your body language open and neutral. Nothing happening. You lie down and pull the covers up on your side. You’re not sure Jake will join you. You don’t know if you deserve him to. He removes his glasses and slides into the bed, cautiously going to hold you. You curl easily into his arms, wrapping an arm around his middle. Your foreheads touch. “Hey.”

“...Hey.” Jake takes a few deep, shuddering breaths, a few tears slipping out. A dam breaks. Little sniffles turn into sobs, sobs turn into full-on bawling. He cries into your shoulder, chest heaving, as you hold him.

“Oh, sweetheart…” you murmur, carding your fingers fingers through his hair, “I’m here. You’re safe. I’m here.” You hum to him, soft, tuneless, keeping him close. You can’t believe you’re in this position, like him letting you comfort him. How could you deserve this? How could you deserve this trust? You keep mumbling reassurances to him, a few tears of your own falling. Your heart hurts. It hurts to see him hurting so much, and it hurts that you can’t do anything about it but hold him and hope things work out. His tears slow to a halt, breathing still shallow, shaky. He wipes his eyes and rests his head on your shoulder. 

“Thank you,” he finally says.

“Of course,” you whisper back. He kisses the corner of your mouth. You laugh, but it might be another sob, and catch him in another kiss. “I love you.” He kisses you back, wrapping his arms around you once again. “I never thought I’d be able to tell you. I love you so much.”

“I love you so much it aches,” he says, kissing at your face. You give a watery laugh, kissing back when you can. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.” You peck his lips again. “So much.” You stay curled up close to him, brushing his hair out of his face, swiping a thumb under his eye to catch any stray tears. You can’t… you can’t believe you’re here. That he’s here. Jake slowly exhales, body sinking down further into your bed, eyes closed. Having someone else in your bed is strange, the extra weight, the extra warmth. You wouldn’t want it to be anyone else. “Do you want me to get you anything?” you mumble, “A glass of water, maybe?”

“I don’t want you to leave,” he says, still just holding you, not opening his eyes, “That’s all. Just… Don’t go.”

“Okay.” You kiss his forehead, and go back to playing with his hair. “I’m not going anywhere.” His arms slide over your waist, and slowly, his breathing evens out. Must be asleep. Exhausted from everything that’s just happened. He looks comfortable. You’re comfortable too, drifting in and out of sleep. You never fall asleep this easily, but… Jake’s here. Maybe it’s alright if you rest, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im back. the epilogues have ideas that i want. that's all im taking from them. what if dirk and jake were fucked up but like. tried to actually fix it. more to come. there are definitely enough lyrics in a 9 minute song for me to properly title all my chapters, even tho itll feel weird and fakedeep :/
> 
> seeyall soon!


	2. on east 12th street

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sometimes a little confrontation is necessary, no matter how much you hate it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fuckin uh. hey. im back. the doc for this is currently at 13k and i dont know how. who am i. anyway, do mind the tags, im addressing jake's trauma and it aint pretty. also dirk has nightmares

Maybe you spoke too soon, sleep-wise.

You don’t fall asleep easily. Falling asleep with another person in your bed made it much easier. There’s one other problem: you don’t stay asleep, either.

Your headaches started a few months ago, a little after your annual Creator picnic. The dreams started around the same time, vivid and like you’re actually there. It’s not unlike dreaming on Derse, lucid and physical. You’re yourself every time, with changes. Taller, shorter, different surroundings you’ve never seen. Sometimes you’re in a city, sometimes you’re looking out over a chess-board community surrounded by ocean, sometimes you’re on an island, all alone. 

You’ve been having deja vu. You’ve been having phantom pains, mostly around your scar, but it changes. Sometimes it feels like a sword is being driven deep into your chest, sometimes it’s bullets ripping into your torso, sometimes you can’t breathe, the memory of water in your lungs choking you. It never lasts long, but it hurts. Every time. It hurts. 

This time, you’re standing on a strange blue mesa, glowing mushrooms surrounding you, a terrifying tentacled, winged, dog-faced creature facing you down. You’re taller than you normally are. Your heart stops, but your hand tightens around your sword. There is a soft arm in your other hand; you look down, meeting the eyes of Lil Cal. He doesn’t say anything, but a whisper at the back of your mind tells you it’s time to kill this fucking thing in front of you.

It’s a hard fight. At some point, you realize you won’t live through this. Your hat is knocked off as you fall onto your back, sword clattering to the side. The creature leers over you, sword in hand. You snarl back, starting to get up, but he brings the blade down before you can move.

You sit up sharply, pain shooting through your chest as you gasp. You’re no longer on that strange blue platform. You’re at home, lights dark in your room, moonlight thin through the window. Heart pounding, you try to make sense of your surroundings, and why there’s weight beside you in the bed. 

Fuck.

Jake’s here. And you probably just woke him up with your fucking nightmare. How long were you tossing and turning? You don’t want to think about it.

Looking down, you notice that Jake isn’t asleep. By the looks of it, he hasn’t been for a while. He’s lying on his side, watching you, eyes distant. 

“...Sorry about that,” you manage. You lay back down, facing Jake, still trying to catch your breath. “I didn’t wake you, did I.” It’s not a question.

“Not in the least,” he says. He closes his eyes, and something glowing and glittery falls from his eyelashes.

“What’s going on?” You brush your thumb under his eye again, and it comes away crusted with gold, like you’ve dipped it into molten metal. You frown, rubbing it between your fingers. It flakes away into gold dust on the bed. “You been up long?”

“A little bit. Not much.”

“Just lying awake, then. I get it. I get like that.” You touch your forehead to Jake’s, twining your fingers with his. He lets out a soft, slow breath, like he’s been holding it. “You’re alright. We’re alright.”

“I don’t--” he says, eyebrows furrowed, “You don’t know that. You can’t promise that.”

“I can’t promise it forever. But I can while you’re here.” He still looks worried. You continue on. “I can’t promise that you’ll be fine, or that I’ll be fine, but I can promise that while we’re here, we’re okay.”

He sighs, closing his eyes.

“If only I could just…. Never go back.”

“You don’t have to,” you say, “You can stay here.”

“I’ll have to eventually.”

“Why?”

“I have responsibilities. My own house, for one.” The Skaianet estate is pretty nice, big, well lit, in a nice celebrity neighborhood. Not the best secured, has a decent laboratory and workroom, has a billion guests room. You hate it. It’s big and soulless. “I’ve got people who want to see me and want to take pictures of me so that they can plaster my ass on billboards. Or posters. Or products.” You start to protest, but he shakes his head. “Maybe I don’t have to go, not really. But an awful lot of people will be cross with me if I don’t.” Plenty of people are likely upset with you. You did kind of drop off the face of the planet. “ _And_ it’ll come back to bite me eventually, no matter how I try and pretend it won’t.”

You sigh. You get it. Everything eventually came to bite you in the ass, after all. Vanishing will probably bite you in the ass. Doesn’t matter.

“You deserve to take some time out of the spotlight,” you say, “Could sell the rest of your company to Jane. That’d be it. Could vanish the same way I did.”

At the mention of Jane, Jake freezes beside you. He makes himself go lax again, letting out a shaky breath.

“You’ve always had a reputation as a solitary sort, though. People _expect_ things of me. They expect this…” He huffs in frustration. “This ever-cheery socialite who’s an easy lay and who dresses so damn skimpily that he might as well be nude, but fuck if it doesn’t work for him.” He takes a deep breath, squeezing your hand, nearly shaking. Gold beads around his eyes, and he breathes out another puff of fog. “Maybe it’d be easier on everyone if I… just tried to be that person.” 

“Don’t.” You make it sound so simple. As if you didn’t have your own complications and host of reasons for leaving. “Throw a celebrity meltdown. Just- stay. Wear three layers, all clothes, all the time. You don’t need to go back.”

“I don’t want to,” he says, “I wish I could stay forever.”

“...I could go with you,” you offer, “If you really need to go.”

“I won’t force that on you,” he says.

“Can’t force me if I want to go,” you counter, and he sighs. Again.

“I…” Another gold, glowing tear slides down his nose, warm in the cool moonlight. “I don’t want you to see me like that.”

“I don’t either. But I‘ll go with you, I’ll stay, make sure you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, I’ll--”

“Dirk.” He meets your eyes.

“Jake.” You stare back, and look away with another sigh. “...I know.”

He takes a moment, wiping his eyes again. 

“...I don’t want to think about having to leave.” You nod, putting your arms around him once again. He hesitates for a moment, before burying his face in your shoulder. “...Maybe I really should throw a celebrity meltdown,” he mumbles. You hold him close, smoothing his hair down in the back in what you hope is a soothing manner.

“You could fuck off with me to the woods. Take a break. The forest around here isn’t too bad.” You hum, thinking, and kiss the side of his head. “I know ‘em pretty well. Good hiking trails, very few people.”

Jake gives a weak little laugh. 

“Might be nice,” he says, “...I don’t know if I like people all that much, honestly.”

“You and me both,” you agree, “I like you, though.” You’re not a sap. You have to defend yourself. “Cheesy, I know. Makin’ me sound all soft.”

“It’s alright. I feel the same.” Maybe you’re melting. Maybe everything he says to you makes you melt, is what’s making you go all soft. “Let’s just go off together somewhere and be hermits.”

“Sounds wonderful,” you say, “Nice, quiet life. Wearing disguises at the grocery store.”

“I love it,” Jake says, “I’d love that.” 

You watch him for a little while, watch the rise and fall of his back as he breathes. He’s the most amazing person you’ve ever met, and the most frustrating. You want him to be happy.

“...We should go back to sleep,” you eventually say, “Get some good rest.” He hums, nodding into your shoulder. You pull back, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, before looking towards the empty bedside table. “Do you want me to get you a glass of water?”

He pulls you back down.

“There’s one on the nightstand. Don’t get up.” You start to argue, but look up again. On the table sits a glass of water, the unfamiliar glass damp with condensation, a little coaster beneath it. That wasn’t there a second ago. You blink in confusion; you’re too tired for this. Probably just didn’t see it beforehand. You nod, sighing once again. He sits up, takes a few sips, and lays back down. You kiss him. He needs someone stable right now; you can’t have another little episode like the one you did earlier. Your problems - the headaches, the nightmares - they can all wait. You’d figure it out. 

“I love you,” you mumble.

“I love you, too.” His arm winds around your waist again. “I’m sure we’ll be able to get through this.” 

“I’d like to hope so.” You nuzzle into his jaw, stifling a yawn.

“I think that one’s under my jurisdiction, love.” You feel Jake grin against your neck, and it makes you chuckle.

“I know, I know.” You start to fall back asleep, and start idly kissing where you can reach, pure affection. He kisses you back, and you feel that hope - Hope, even - radiate off of him. Shoulders, neck, jaw, cheek, lips. You fall asleep with his face pressed into your shoulder, his arm around your waist, your thoughts calmer than they’ve been in a while. You’re comfortable and secure. And fuck, do you want Jake to feel this comfortable and secure with you.

* * *

You’re woken up by his alarm.

From the nightstand, his alarm blares, shrill and harsh and loud. You blink awake and try to cover your ears with your pillow.

“Wh--”

“Just my alarm!” Jake moves quickly, and the sound stops. You feel him swing around and sit on the edge of the bed. He glances over his shoulder at you. “Just my alarm, no need to-- oh.” He actually looks at you. His face softens. “...Hi.”

“Hi,” you say, rubbing your eyes, “Wh… what time is it?” You gently pull him back down, and he goes easily.

“Nine in the morning,” he sighs, nosing against your hair, “I’m s’posed to have a photoshoot at eleven.”

“Fuck ‘em,” you say. Forget that shit. Simple, you suppose, but not easy. “What’s it for, anyway?”

“Some advertisement campaign or another.” Jake waves his hand vaguely. “I was thinking of going and just…” He sighs again, resigned. “...Completely flipping my lid.”

“I can go with. Contribute to the meltdown.” The two of you combined could definitely create a shitstorm. You might feel bad for the photographer later, but… Not now. “I could take your place,” you offer, “Let them take my picture. Let ‘em immortalize how little of an immortal ass I got.”

“Ha!” You love making him laugh. “Quality over quantity, right?”

You snort, rolling your eyes.

“It’s not that good of an ass, dude.”

“Well,” he says, kissing your hair, “I’m rather fond of the fellow attached to it.” Damn it, if that’s the thing that makes you blush. After all of this. You chuckle, pushing lightly at his chest.

“You’re a sweetheart.” You turn serious after a second, however. “I’ll do it, though. I’ll come out of hiding for a hot sec and you can have your freakout, and then we can come back here.”

“...Alright.” He looks nervous again. “As- as long as you promise we can come back.”

“Of course,” you say immediately, “Of course. As soon as it’s over.” He nods, looking a little more confident about this decision. That worry still lingers in his eyes, though. You need to do something. Get him distracted. “Should we get up? I can put some breakfast together.”

His eyes light up. “I like the sound of that. Can I help?”

“I’d love an assistant.” you smile, and he nearly beams. You start to get up, regrettably pulling away from Jake. He sits up as well, but you want to go back to leaning on him. He rubs his face, putting his glasses back on.

“I think I’ll not bother washing up until we get ho--” he cuts himself off, and you raise an eyebrow, “-- Until we get back. I could really lean into the disheveled look.”

You nod, tapping your chin. “I’m diggin’ it,” you say, “The sweatpants will help.” A thought does come to you, about all this. “...If you want, we can stop back at your place to grab some clothes.”

Jake tenses. “I… don’t really want to, quite yet.” He looks at you sheepishly, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “I, er, can’t say I own too many comfy clothes at this present juncture.”

“We’ll get something. Figure something out. Alchemize it. We’ll… Do something.” He nods, focusing more on the fabric between his fingers. You… can probably leave him alone for a bit. Maybe. You grab some clean clothes from the dresser. “I’m gonna shower real quick.” Jake looks up, gives you a doubting look. “Ten minutes, max. I know, it’s a rarity. But I can do it.”

He gives you a slightly confused look, but nods, and you rush off to the shower. You keep it quick this time: hair, conditioner, soap, face. You don’t zone out. You don’t wait until the water goes cold. You don’t even gel your hair once you get out. You don’t give yourself time to ruminate on the amount of souls rolling around in your head. It still takes you fifteen minutes.

When you get downstairs, Jake is leaning against the counter, sipping a cup of coffee. You don’t know how he got that coffee. You didn’t put any on to brew last night. The nearly full jar of instant coffee beside him isn’t a brand you’ve ever purchased. You… haven’t purchased instant coffee in years. You brush it off.

“You got any specific breakfast requests?” you say, starting to rummage through the fridge, “If not, I got eggs, sausage, potatoes, pretty much usual breakfast stuff.”

“Er--” Jake gives another sheepish laugh, raising his mug. “I’ve got my coffee. My usual breakfast, truth be told.”

“You want anything else, then?” You start getting stuff out. “Gotta keep that energy up for your big celebrity meltdown or whatever.”

Jake frowns, shifting from foot to foot.

“I’ll- I’ll go with whatever you have,” he says, muffling his voice into his coffee. He almost tries to make himself smaller, which would be funny, if it didn’t make your heart ache. You whip up breakfast regardless, scrambled eggs and potatoes for the two of you, grabbing plates, motioning for him to sit down. You don’t ask him to help, and he doesn’t offer.

“Are there coordinates for the place where the shoot is, or will we have to go somewhere nearby?” you casually ask, placing the plate in front of him and starting on your own meal. He picks at the eggs, waving a hand noncommittally.

“There are coordinates.” He takes a bite. “It’s a… Crockercorp studio, so it’s fairly close to…” You raise an eyebrow. “...A bit of a hub,” he finishes lamely. 

“Do we have to go through the hub, or is there a direct transport?” You keep your posture open, sensing his discomfort. He takes another half-hearted bite.

“There’s a direct line to the studio. The, erm…” Jake takes a deep breath, choosing his words. “... _producers_ of the product I’m advertising don’t particularly appreciate paparazzi. They’re not the ones who are supposed to be taking the photos, after all!” He gives a small, awkward chuckle, hunching his shoulders a little closer to the table, glancing back and forth as if he’s expecting someone.

“Alright,” you say simply, watching him, “I hope they won’t mind a plus-one.” _If he wanted to tell you something, he would,_ you tell yourself, _It’ll be fine._

“I certainly hope so…” 

Jake fidgets, pushing the eggs around on his plate. It has something to do with Jane. It’s Crockercorp. Of course it’s going to be Jane. You were good friends with her at one point. Hell, the four of you were all good friends. Maybe you’ve kept your distance from the rest of the world, but you all used to be close. You don’t know Jane as well as you used to, is the feeling you’re getting. She was acting weird at the last Creators’ Luncheon. You lay a hand out, palm up, on the table.

“It’ll be okay. We’ll come right back here after.”

He takes your hand, squeezes it.

“Alright.”

You finish your breakfast; a little bit of gold fog spills over the edge of Jake’s coffee mug as he drinks. That twinge of worry is back, the one in the back of your mind. He’s faking it, whatever _it_ is. You stand and clear the plates. You stare at the sink for a moment too long, and jump when Jake rinses his mug. 

“It’s only fair if I deal with the dishes, Dirk. You did all the cooking.”

You shake your head.

“We can just leave it for later. Not like we’ll be there long.”

“I suppose that’s true.” Jake’s voice is steady, but his body is very much not. His hand, still holding the empty mug, begins to tremble. He breathes more of that fog into your face, and you resist waving it away. That dreamy, floaty feeling is back, but you wave that aside too. You take away the mug, and grab his hands. He starts to hyperventilate.

“Jake.” He freezes. “Look at me.” He does, shoulders slumped and eyes sad. You squeeze his hand. “It’s going to be okay.”

“...” He pauses, but nods. “I’ll believe it if you’re the one promising.” You lean up and kiss his cheek.

“You don’t have to put up an act around me, sweetheart,” you say, “We’ll go, we’ll freak out, we’ll come back here.”

“Just hope I’ll be able to perform,” he mutters, looking aside.

“You will. I believe it.”

Jake presses his forehead to yours. 

“And I’ll believe you", he says, closing his eyes, “...We ought to head out soon.” He pulls back, letting go of your hand. “Do I look disheveled enough?” You hum, examining him. Sweatpants, a pair of ugly, ratty slippers, a huge shirt that covers his entire form, an unzipped hoodie on over the whole thing. You reach up, messing up Jake’s hair. His cheeks go pink. 

“There we go,” you grin, “Properly ruffled.”

He gives you a shy, but relaxed, smile. 

“...Thank you, Dirk.” He kisses your cheek. “Lead the way, then.”

You installed your transportalizer in a particularly large closet. It’s orange, of course. It’s orange, and untraceable. You lead him to it, gesturing to the coordinate input. He punches them in and steps on, taking a deep, nervous breath. You step up with him. 

“Here we go,” you say, squeezing his hand.

“Here we go…” he replies, hitting the enter key. Air sucks in around you, squeezing you, and you gasp as you are dropped back in a sterile, corporate hallway. The air is different here, filtered, gross. Beside you, Jake is goes stiff. The colors here are neutral, white walls, tan carpet, brown end tables, red accent pieces. You hate it. 

“...Which way.” You slip back into that flat, defensive tone. Jake doesn’t answer. He stares straight ahead, and walks mechanically down the hall. Left, right, through a door, through a green room, into a studio. It’s all set up, a stool in the center, white background, cameras already set up. And staring at you is a carapacian, beetle black, white eyes full of malice and hands full of clipboard.

“ _Where_ have you been?” he shouts, and Jake shrinks beside you, “Do you know how late it is?! We were supposed to start thirty minutes ago! And how _dare_ you show up like _that_ , in _that_ kind of state! Do you _know_ how furious the boss will be?!”

“I--” Jake starts, but ducks his head, fog starting to surround him, “Right. Sorry, I…”

“The _boss_ can fuckin’ deal with it,” you interrupt. The executive glares at you - a Bishop, you think. If he were on Skaia, he would have been a Bishop. He’s taller than you. 

“Do you even know who you’re talking about?” he snarls, and you glare right back. The public rarely sees your eyes. Does he see the fire you feel behind yours, or does the color show it enough?

“I’m pretty sure I know who I’m talking about,” you say, “Though, I don’t know who _you_ think you’re talking to. Maybe you could, I don’t know, show some respect to two of your Creators.” You hate pulling that card. He backs off.

“I’d be respecting three if this all goes through, considering who the boss is.”

“Look, man.” You take a step forward. “Your star model? He’s just as much of a Creator as your boss is. And yelling at him, isn’t gonna get you too high into the Page’s good graces. Y’sure as hell ain’t in the Prince’s.” You glance at Jake, then back to the executive. “We’re going to go now. Alright? Ain’t too much you’re gonna do about it.” 

“And there isn’t much you’re going to do about it either, Dirk!” As if on cue, Jane Crocker comes storming into the studio, heels clicking on the room’s tiled floor. “Look at the state he’s in. We’re going to have to spend at _least_ an hour in hair and makeup to get him even _remotely_ presentable!” The thin fog around Jake suddenly becomes thick, like cotton down your throat. You slowly turn, looking at her. Pencil skirt, red heels, red nails, sensible blazer. She looks much older than recently-twenty-one.

“Jane,” you say, “Pleasure seeing you.”

“All mine, Strider,” she says, before casting her attention to the executive, “Get Jake to hair and makeup right now, please. We can’t waste any more time.”

Jake’s hand finds yours, holding tightly. 

“I’ll be calling you soon, Jane.” You let your voice carry. She looks back at you. “We have somewhere to be.”

“You can’t just drag him off wherever you want, Dirk! Jake has responsibilities!” _Jake is also in the room with you,_ you think. He’s trembling beside you.

“I’m sure,” you say coolly, “We’re going to go.”

“ _You_ can go,” Jane says, “ _Jake_ is going to stay right here and do his photoshoot.”

“You know, Jane,” you say, and you’ll let yourself be an asshole about this, why not, “You’re really playin’ into Machiavellian ideals here. Better to be feared than loved, and all that.” You chuckle to yourself. “And _I’m_ supposed to be the Prince, here.” You tug at Jake’s hand, pulling him towards the door. “I’ll be calling you. We should catch up.”

“Will you _stop_ dragging Jake out of his obligations?” she demands, and you level her a hard look.

“Will you stop dragging him _into_ them?” You gesture at Jake with your free hand. “Fucking _look_ at him, Jane! Scared out of his mind around you!” 

He flinches. 

“ _You_ look at him!” she counters, hands on her hips, “If he’s left to his own devices, he’ll just sit around all day drinking! At least this way, he has some _structure!”_

You pinch the bridge of your nose and sigh slowly, before looking up at her.

“We’re going to go.” Simple sentences. Flat voice. “And you won’t stop us.” You start to push Jake back towards the hallway, but he stays firmly in place. He squeezes your hand, and looks up at Jane.

“Janey, I’m done with this.” His voice doesn’t shake. “I’m done! I’m not taking any more pictures for your company! I’m not making any more adverts for you!” The fog surround him starts to solidify, and glow. Jake’s floating a few inches off the ground.

You’ve seen this before. You know where this is going. You- you remember this. 

~~_My name is Dirk Strider. You kissed my boyfriend. Prepare to die._ ~~

Why do you remember this?

~~_You’re on Jade’s planet, over a crater filled with lava. You slice at the pretty blue troll girl in front of you, and she heals immediately, smirking at you. She challenges you to cut off her arm. You opt to rip her soul from her body instead. And then you become more and more fake. And you vanish._ ~~

You don’t have time to think about it now. You tug at Jake’s arm again. He doesn’t move. He floats a little higher.

“I tried and tried and I _tried_ , Jane--” His voice echoes as he gets louder, reverberating off the studio walls. “--but you’re still- you’re still the same person who--” The bubble starts to get bigger, brighter. You remember something else. A jail cell on Derse. Tears roll down Jake’s face as the bubble gets larger, and you shade your eyes. He’s unearthly.

“ _You know exactly what you threatened to do to me, Jane.”_

~~_Stand up like a man, and punch her in the face or something._ ~~

You weren’t there. You shouldn’t know what he’s talking about. But… but you do. You remember. You hold tighter to him. Wind whips around you, coming from nowhere. Jane doesn’t look frightened, or confused, or concerned. She looks furious.

“Jake English!” she shouts, “You shut your _damn_ mouth right now and get to hair and makeup, or so help me god--”

Jake’s voice is nearly deafening.

“ _Why can’t you just..._ **_leave... me... ALONE!!!”_ **

The bubble pops. Everything is flooded with awful, blinding white light. Air squeezes around you and feels familiar again. You’re home. Standing in the living room. Jake is limp at your side, little more than a slightly singed tangle of limbs. You set him on the couch, sit down, and take a few deep breaths. He curls up, head by your leg, not looking at you. Your head spins. 

You don’t know how long the two of you sit there for. You have time enough to pull out your phone, dazed, and check the Human Kingdom’s premium news outlet. There was an explosion in the capital’s city center. No casualties, no injuries, just a few broken windows. Jane Crocker, CEO of Crockercorp, refused to comment.

“...Jake?”

“...” His voice is small, hoarse. “I’m sorry. I got too riled up.”

“Don’t be,” you say. You run your fingers through his hair, small, repetitive motions. He flinches at first, but settles quickly enough. “You know, that’s a celebrity meltdown if I’ve ever seen one.” Your attempt at levity fails. “...You’re okay. We’re home.”

He nods, letting out another shaky exhale.

“I- I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

“You needed to,” you soothe, “Confrontation’s ugly, but you needed to say it.”

“I’ll just--” He hiccups, a few more tears escaping him. “I ought to apologize. Things will- things will get more ugly if I don’t.”

Things have already gotten pretty damn ugly, in your opinion. You don’t argue with him.

You can’t remember putting in the coordinates back to your house. Nor exiting your transportalizer closet. And now that you think of it?

You can’t remember getting back to Jane’s transportalizer in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> janey sweetie im so sorry youll get better i promise its not your fault i swear
> 
> (explores jakes powers)(explores jakes powers)(explores jakes powers)(explores jakes powers)(explores jakes powers)(explores j


	3. like a desperation murmur of a heartbeat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the aftermath of meeting with jane, among other things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _please_ heed the dirk strider's issues tag. self loathing, being unworthy, blaming himself for bro's actions, etc. a couple details are gone into re: nightmares and remembering being other dirks. just heed the tags in general, really
> 
> also they kiss
> 
> also rose makes a cameo bc i love her

You still don’t know what those flashes of memory were. Jake’s head is on your lap, and you idly run your fingers through his hair to soothe him. He keeps trying to convince you that he needs to apologize to Jane, and you keep trying to tell him he doesn’t.

“I know how close you two are,” he protests, and you shush him again.

“We’re not that close,” you say, “We _were_ , because we _all_ were, but not anymore.” Your mind fills with images of Dersite purple, of Jane’s godtier robes inexplicably red, her sclera black, her skin paper white, and of Jake, shaking, pale, newly immortal and having it threatened. “...She hurt you,” you say quietly, hand stilling, “I… I was there.”

“What?” Jake sits up, giving you a look. “No, you weren’t.”

“I remember it.” You blink the images away. That’s not possible. “It- it wasn’t me, though. I was- I was still flying back, but I remember it.”

“It wasn’t you,” Jake says slowly, “It was the Brain Ghost. But I never… told you about him.”

“I--”

~~_Hey. Did you shave your legs? … God damn. They're so smooth. A car could swerve outta control on those gams._ ~~

You hiss, rubbing at your temple. “--I remember it. I remember.” Remembering it hurts. It’s information you shouldn’t know, and it hurts you physically do know it. “You were crying. And she was- she was all red. And you commented on my stupid pants and I tolder you to punch her and you said you didn’t want to.”

“She was threatening to… to, erm,” Jake trails off, rubbing the back of his neck. He’s making himself smaller again, like he did in that jail cell. “...”

“Jake…” You shouldn’t remember. You shouldn’t know. “Jake, fuck, I’m- I’m so sorry.”

Jake brings his knees to his chest, leaning against you.

“I’ve been trying so hard to look past it and just get along,” he whispers.

“Pretty fuckin’ hard thing to get past,” you say, “You don’t have to tell me. I’ve been…” You sigh, frustrated. “...Remembering things. And… that’s part of it. Seeing all that.” Jake, scared and crying; Jane, cold and furious. “I shouldn’t know this, I shouldn’t remember this, I--”

You thought it was a dream, at first. You were wandering around Jake’s island, vision tinted slightly red. You cut through the foliage, and your arms were made of metal. You came upon Jake, and he was talking to Jane. About romance, you think. And it made you so upset, so heartbroken that you felt it necessary to--

“--I remember ripping my heart out and smashing it to pieces,” you finish.

“...The Brobot.” Jake uncurls beside you. “Do you think you might be… absorbing your other selves, somehow?”

“I am. I don’t want to.” Your vision is starting to get blurry; you think you blink away tears. Jake wraps his arms around you. You lean forward, elbows on your knees, and tug at your hair. “I wasn’t _there._ I shouldn’t _know_. It’s like--” Soul is kind of your whole thing; you don’t think you want it to be, anymore. “--Like there’s another soul in my body.” You don’t want to mention how many other souls are in there too. Or how many you destroyed. “It’s not just memories of splinters. I’m remembering other timelines, too.”

“Other timelines?” Jake eases your hands out of your hair, “Is that something you might be able to talk to Dave about? He might be able to help.”

“I don’t know,” you say, voice strained with quiet, “It’s like, I’m remembering being other Dirks that didn’t grow up alone.” Sometimes he wasn’t famed director Dave Strider. Sometimes he was Dave, the guy who worked on late night comedy shows and made you pasta. He adored you. “Dirks that aren’t Dirk Strider, they’re someone else. Dirk Crocker, Dirk Lalonde, Dirk English, even.” Raised by his father, idolizing his director older brother who isn’t in the picture too much; tipsy and alone, idolizing his brother, the guy who wrote subversive novels; alone, surrounded only by monsters, missing his brother who died when he was six. “Adult Dirks, too.” Texas summers. The sun, red and beating. Flashes of metal, subpar sewing skills, the interior of a green apartment, the dead eyes of a puppet filled with something a little more alive. “I--” You can’t manage more than a strangled whisper. “I remember raising Dave.”

Jake takes a sharp breath in, pulling you as close as he can. You hold tightly to him, and fear that if you move, you’ll fly apart at the seams until there’s nothing left of you but scattered limbs and a disembodied head. 

“The you that you are now isn’t that person,” he says.

“But what if I am?” you say, “What if that’s what I’m destined to turn into?” Your heart beats faster. He never took off those stupid fingerless gloves. Your eyes burn. “It wasn’t always bad. I was- _he_ was a good person sometimes. Some timelines.” A child, staring in terror. “...Not usually.”

“Dirk…” Jake holds your head in both hands, and kisses you softly on the forehead. “Can you do something for me?”

“Y-yeah.” A tear slides hot and disgusting down your cheek.

“Take a deep breath. In through your nose, out through your mouth.” You do as he says, in through the nose, out through the mouth. His hands move to your shoulders. “Another.” You do it again, again, again. The pressure helps ground you. Name five things you can feel, right? One, Jake’s hands on you; two, the tear tracks cutting down your flushed face; three, the couch, under your knees; four, Jake’s chest rising and falling as he breathes with you; five, your pulse, hammering in your neck but slowly calming down. You open your eyes, look into his. “You’re not doomed to be a bad person,” Jake says firmly, “You’re not _destined_ to be cruel.”

“I- I’m not destined to be cruel,” you repeat, unconfident.

“You’re not. Say it again, Dirk.”

“I’m not destined to be cruel.” That soul-crushing guilt is back. You crumble. “I- I shouldn’t be freaking out. I was trying to help you. And I’m making it all about myself.” Typical Dirk Strider move. You don’t even know why he wanted you back, you’re always like this. You’ve always been like this. Jake seems to sense how hard you’re about to beat yourself up.

“It’s freaky stuff!” He leans on you, and you lean on him. “Maybe we can both freak out.”

“Wouldn’t- wouldn’t get us anywhere. Feedback loop.” You sniffle, composing yourself again. “I was trying to put this off until you were better, but--”

“I don’t think I’ll ever _be_ better, love.”

“Or at least until you stopped with the fog stuff, but--” You stay close. You’ve still shaking, faintly. “But now I’m all like this.”

“I’m here, Dirk,” he says, kissing your temple, “I’ll be here for you like you’ve been for me. Alright?”

“Alright. Okay.” Deep breaths. You’re fine. You’re fine, and you’ll continue to be fine. “Fuck, I’m sorry you have to see me like this. ‘M not supposed to be like this.”

“You’re not _supposed_ to be like anything.” That is not quite right. You don’t correct him yet. “Just like I’m not supposed to be the group’s resident bimbo no matter how much I thought I was.”

“That’s different, though, other people told you that’s what you had to be,” you say. Your hands curl into fists at the side of your head. “I’m supposed to be strong, and calm, and rational, and I’m supposed to _protect the rest of you_ , I can’t be _like this_.” You feel static electricity dance over your knuckles, imagining the pink lightning starting to form. Your voice breaks. “I just want it to stop. The nightmares. And the headaches.”

Jake brushes some of the hair from your forehead, eternally gentle. 

“You’ve done a damn good job protecting me,” he assures, “Let me return the favor?” A sob catches in your chest. “It’s okay to rest.” You try to breathe. You nod.

“It’s- it’s okay to rest.” Years of fighting for your life have taught you otherwise.

“It’s okay to rest,” he repeats. He’ll make you believe it. 

“Can we go back upstairs?” You’re pathetic, that’s what you are. “I- I think I need to lie down again.”

“Yes. Let’s do that.” Jake gets to his feet, scooping you bridal-style into his arms. You go up easy, and curl into his chest as he carries you up the stairs. He carries you to your room, sitting on the edge of the bed, and lowers your legs so that you’re perpendicular on his lap. He’s being so kind to you. You don’t deserve this. You keep your forehead against Jake’s chest, not wanting to move.

“Thanks,” you mumble. Maybe it’s nice to have a break. Maybe you need one. You don’t deserve one, but you need one. He pets his fingers down your back.

“Deep breaths for me again?” You count the seconds between the inhale, the hold, the exhale, the hold. It helps. “That’s it…”

“I’m sorry.”

“For?” His hand stops.

“Everything, I guess.”

“Well,” Jake hums, “You’re forgiven, then.” You let out a weak chuckle. If only it were that easy. He kisses your forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you murmur. You wipe your eyes, and sit up fully. Soft, hesitant, unsure, you kiss him. He kisses you back, holding that same careful energy. More sure of yourself, you pull closer, still soft, still kissing him. He wraps an arm around your waist and holds you in, seeming more comfortable. You’re lucid, you’re grounded, there’s no place you’d rather be. You sigh into the kiss, content. “Thank you.” Kiss. “I love you.” Kiss. “Thank you.”

“I love you, I love you,” he breathes back, “I don’t know how I didn’t say it before, how I never told you. I was such a fool.”

“We both were.” You nudge your nose against his; he smiles. “The biggest fools. We were kids, what were we going to do?”

“Fair.” Another quick kiss. “...I’m glad we’re adults now. I’m glad we get to try again.” Another. “I’m glad I get to love you.” You don’t have the words for what you’re feeling. Your heart is full, that might be the right word. Overflowing, nearly. Sweet, tender, overflowing with emotion you never let yourself have before.

Maybe you deserve the searing pain across your neck, the tendons phantom-severing, the crushing of your phantom trachea, the soul shunted into your body as another Dirk somewhere else dies. 

You flinch, a small sound of pain escaping you. Jake looks startled.

“Are you alright?”

“My- my neck hurts,” you stumble, “Hurt. For half a second. I’m fine.”

“Oh,” he says, “...May I kiss you there?” That makes your face flush. You give the smallest stammering nod.

“...Yes. Please.”

His fingers brush the underside of your chin; you tilt your head up. He kisses a gentle ring around your throat, around the thick, ugly, knotted scar around your neck. Goosebumps rise across your skin, the area sensitive. Your breath catches. You hold perfectly still. He flutters ticklish little kisses over the scar tissue, the way he used to when you were in the game. You’re getting nervous. It’s… intimate. More intimate than you’ve been in a while. And what if it’s too much for him? What if he’s doing this because he thinks you’ll like it, not because he wants to? You’re overthinking, you know it, but your breathing still turns shallow, and you still bite your lip to keep in any sounds. He pulls back as if sensing your discomfort. He kisses your lips; you force yourself to relax.

“You’re alright,” he whispers, “It’s just me.”

“I’m alright,” you respond, “It’s- it’s just you.” Another deep breath, another kiss. “I’m okay.”

“It’s just me. You’re okay.” He’s so kind to you. You don’t deserve it.

“You… you don’t have to do this,” you say quietly, “Kissing all on me like this.”

“No, I don’t.” What a reversal this is from before. You’re an idiot. “But I want to. Do you not want me to?”

You shake your head.

“I don’t want you to push yourself.”

“I’m alright doing this, kissing your neck and face,” he says, but you climb off his lap regardless, back against the wall, “I’d just…” He waves a hand, sitting beside you. “I’d rather we not go below the belt. For a while, at least.”

“Of course,” you say quickly, “Of course, I won’t push you.” _I don’t want to hurt you._

Your phone buzzes in your pocket; it’s a message from Rose.

tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT]!  
TT: By any chance, dear father, were you in the Human Capitol today?  
TT: Please.  
TT: Don't call me that.  
TT: We've been over this.  
TT: Yes or no, Dirk.  
TT: Why.  
TT: I happened to be in town, and saw an explosion reminiscent of Jake's hope-related tantrums.  
TT: You're usually involved, when those happen.  
TT: ...  
TT: I'll take that as a yes.  
TT: Jane has cancelled our meeting, because of it.  
TT: I'm going to call her later.  
TT: And don't call them tantrums. It was self-defense.  
TT: Lovely to hear from you, Dirk. I hope you keep in touch.  
TT: You know I won't.  
TT: Noted.  
tentacleTherapist [TT] has ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT]!  


“It appears we’ve caused quite a stir,” you say, and Jake looks up.

“...How bad?”

“Not terribly, sounds like just a lot of confusion and broken windows.” You put your phone face-down on your nightstand and settle against him. “Turns out Rose was in town. She saw the explosion, asked me about it.” Jake sighs. “Rose isn’t upset, but… she was there for a meeting. It got cancelled.” He curls up into you. You kiss the side of his head, not letting him close himself off. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

“She’s going to be _furious_ with me.” 

“She can deal.” You hold him protectively, as he gets closer to you. “You’re safe. You don’t have to go back. I won’t--” You won’t make a promise you can’t keep. You’re keeping this promise. “I won’t let anyone get you. We don’t have to go back to her until you’re sure.”

“You’re too good to me, Dirk,” he says.

You chuckle quietly, no humor behind it.

“You may be the first person to ever say that.”

“I shouldn’t be.” He sits up, trying to meet your eye. You look away.

“Maybe.” 

He tries to protest again, and you shake your head. It doesn’t matter. Your forehead winds up once again on his shoulder as he tries to comfort you.

“I’ll say it as many times as you need.”

“You- you don’t have to.”

“I don’t. But I will.”

Something’s not right here. You’ve been nothing but a terrible person. A toxic element in his life. You hurt him, you hurt Dave, you hurt Rose, you don’t know why you’re being afforded this treatment.

“I don't--” You try to will tears away. You’re not supposed to fucking cry. “I don’t understand. Why you’d want to. Or why you’d think I deserve to hear it.”

“Because it’s true,” he says simply, “You don’t have to believe it, but I’ll keep saying it.”

“...Okay. I love you.” You kiss his shoulder, and he kisses the top of your head.

“With all my heart.”

It’s early in the day, but you’re drifting off again. It’s been an emotional day, you suppose. You’re tired. Your head hurts, your body aches, it’s been such a mess today. Jake continues to pet down your spine, humming softly.

And as always, you dream. You get a fast-forward of Dirk Strider’s life, so similar to yours but with the smallest changes. This one cooks the gulls instead of the fish, and prefers to make puppets rather than robots. He falls off the roof one day, and is not rescued. You wake up and gasp for breath the way he could not; the sun shines golden through the window. You need to get this shit under control. You need to. Jake nuzzles a little closer as you move, but it’s then that you freeze. It must be sleep paralysis. That’s what this is. You’re lucid but dreaming, and a manifestation of your fears is sitting at the end of the bed. 

Translucent, a man sits at the end of your bed. He wears pointed shades and a polo shirt with the collar popped. His shoulders are broader than yours, and he looks a little taller, a little more muscular. You inhale sharply, pulling away from Jake and pulling your knees to your chest, back pressed to the wall once again. This can’t be real, this has to be a dream. He can’t _be_ here. 

“What are you doing here.” Your voice is tight with fear. “Who are you. What do you want.”

“I’m the ghost of Dirksmas past,” he says, voice around the same timbre as yours. He turns around, and you’re relieved to find his face still young, his face still very much yours. “Nah, I’m fuckin’ with you. I’m Jake’s.” He nods at Jake. You still don’t breathe. “Specifically, I’m the manifestation Jake made - using that fuckoff powerful Hope magic - of the one person he trusts most to keep him company and to protect him when he’s lonely or scared. Sure as hell didn’t hurt that you literally gave him your heart when you fell for each other at thirteen, though.” He is you. That’s the one thing you’re able to take out of this. “As for what I’m doing here now, I’m chillin’ out here to take the Jake-supervising reins while y’all get some rest. He feels safer if he knows you’re lookin’ out for him, even if the real you is asleep and I’m hangin’ out bein’ a projection of his subconscious and the belief-slash-knowledge that no matter what, he’s safe as long as you’re around.” 

You let yourself breathe as he finishes, more relieved than you could imagine. You let your shoulders relax; he’s not a projection of Dave’s brother. That’s the only thing you can really think of. 

“You look like an asshole with your collar popped,” you say.

“Blame Jake.” Brain Ghost Dirk rolls his eyes. “He thinks it’s sexy.”

“Eugh. Don’t like that.”

“What, you gonna blame the guy for how the popped collar of an unbuttoned polo exposes just a hint of collarbone?” He raises his eyebrows at you, gesturing at Jake. “He’s got the sensibilities of a Victorian gentleman, by which I mean he’s definitely thinking about kissing you there.” A sweet sentiment. You’re not necessarily charmed by it.

“It just… Makes you look like someone else.”

“I know.” He’s sympathetic. You don’t know why a version of you would be so sympathetic towards you, but… maybe it’s because he’s partly made from Jake’s own feelings. “But Jake’s not thinking about that. Jake’s not thinking about a lot of the shit that he knows.”

“Jake wouldn’t know what the guy looked like, anyway. Just me being weird,” you mutter, staring at your knees. You look back up at him. “You don’t seem to bad.”

“Thanks,” says the ghost, “I used to be a much bigger asshole.”

“You and be both, dude.” You snort, glancing over at the sleeping Jake.

“Him too,” the ghost says. Something else he said comes back to you.

“...He fell for me when we were thirteen?” You look up at him, and meet his eyes over his shades. He chuckles.

“He did,” he says, smiling at Jake, “He didn’t want to think about it.”

“And I told him from the future instead,” you sneer, shaking your head, “Fuckin’ moron move.”

“Didn’t change how he felt,” the ghost says, “He would have run from you if you’d told him, if it’s any consolation.”

“I could tell,” you sigh, “S’why I freaked out so much when we were sixteen. Second thoughts about him wantin’ to be around me, and all that.”

“Nah, that wasn’t it.” Brain Ghost Dirk shakes his head in the exact same way you do. “He wasn’t used to it. Being close and all that, not that you were either. But he still pulled me out of his head when he was too scared to ask you to come to his side.”

“I remember it. Being you.” The day’s events play back through your mind. “And what happened with Jane.”

“Sorry I gave you that one, by the way.” The ghost gets up from the end of the bed and starts wandering around the room. He examines the bits and bobs you have on your desk, catches a glimpse of one of the few photos you have. It’s from right after you got out of the game, all twelve of you in front of the big house you lived in, grinning, smiling, happy to be safe and alive. He touches the photo gently. “He thinks he’s wrong for being upset.”

“Why?”

“He feels like he owes Jane a friendship.”

“Fucking hell,” you mutter, running your hands through your hair, “I didn’t want to tell him, but he’s been Jake Crocker in other timelines. Handsome young heir to Crockercorp, and I’m the younger brother of a highly successful, long dead author. I guess it helps me understand everyone else better? I know where they’re all coming from now, since I’ve lived it.” You sigh, looking over at the ghost. “Sounds dumb, I guess.”

“Sounds dumb, isn’t.” Brain Ghost Dirk comes back over, sitting on the edge of the bed once again. “Part of him knows that you’ve lived both Jane and his lives. He doesn’t want to think about it.”

“It does kind of fuck me up that he dreamed you up to protect him. After…” _All I did. All I let happen. All I couldn’t stop._

“He feels safest around you,” the ghost says, shrugging, “He sees you as strong. Protective. A hero.” 

“A hero,” you scoff, “Don’t make me laugh.”

“I’m not trying to joke.” That unending faith feels like a knife between your ribs, sharp, painful. You swallow, staring at the hands in your lap.

“...I don’t know how he could.” You shake your head the same way Brain Ghost Dirk does. You don’t deserve this. The safety, the comfort, all of it. “...You’ll keep watch if I go back to sleep?”

“It’s what I’m here for.” 

“You don’t have to be. No one knows I’m out here.” The ghost waves you off. It’s to make Jake feel better, you know that. You nod, settling back down. “...Okay. Thank you.” You curl back into Jake and do your best to go back to sleep. Pretend like there isn’t another version of you watching over you. You peek at him as you try to sleep; he perches on the edge of the bed, keeping an eye on the door. He looks at Jake sometimes, eyes soft. 

You’re awoken by a low roll of thunder. Jake is beside you, blearily awake in the same way you are. Brain Ghost Dirk is gone.

“...It’s still light out,” you murmur, not getting up. Jake hums and stretches, cat-like, and rolls onto his back.

“Did you sleep well?”

“I’ve had better.” You lay on your side, watching him. “Met your ghost.”

“Oh?” He mirrors you, raising an eyebrow. “You mean Brain Ghost Dirk?”

“Yeah,” you say, “Decent guy.”

“I should hope so!” Jake says, smiling slightly, “He’s you after all.” Guilt settles somewhere beneath your sternum. Are you that decent? Doubtful. “Must have been unsettling, though.”

“You have no idea. His collar was popped, scared the shit out of me,” you snort, “Can’t say I was expectin’ that one.”

“Whatever’s wrong with that?” Both eyebrows up now. That guilt gets heavier. You don’t answer, instead rolling over and facing away. “Dirk?” You feel him sit up and place a hand on your shoulder. You hunch slightly.

“You wouldn’t know,” you say, distant, “Just. Looks like someone.”

“...Oh.” His voice gets all sad. You hate that. You hate making him sad. You. Well, you might as well say it, right? You hate you. This isn’t some revelation, you hate yourself. He wouldn’t know, and now you’ve made him upset.

“You couldn’t have known,” you say, “But… I thought it was him at first.” Wider shoulders, shades, popped collar. Taller, too. How Jake imagined you, you guess, but you don’t want to be imagined like that. You roll onto your back and stare at the ceiling. “It’s whatever. I- I’m sorry. For being all fucked up about it.”

“It’s not your fault.” He makes it sounds so easy.

“But what if it is?”

“Well, it’s not,” he insists, and that’s the end of that. You should be grateful.

“...Okay,” you sigh. You should be a gracious host. “Do you want anything? Food, a drink, to watch a movie, whatever. I’ll get it for you.”

“Erm…” You look over at him, and he looks nervous. “I’d like to take a bath, actually. Get m'self all cleaned up and whatnot.”

“Bathroom’s down the hall.” You sit up. “Use whatever you need. I can offer a change of clothes, too. Something will probably fit, unless you want to go back and get some of your own stuff.”

“I wouldn’t mind wearing some of your things, if the offer’s open.”

“They’re all yours if they fit,” you say, slowly getting up and shuffling past Jake. The bathroom is right down the hall, much more neat and organized than your disaster of a bedroom. You have a system, for how the products are arranged, colorful against the room’s white tile walls. The bathmat and shower curtain help break up the monotony. You open the door, and can feel Jake’s eyes on your back. “It’s not much,” you say over your shoulder, “But it’s what I got.”

“It’s lovely, actually.” You blush, and you’re not entirely sure why. You look over at him, that soft smile back on your face. Jake moves past you to look through things, peering at all your different leave-in and rinse-out hair products; you take your cue to leave, pecking his cheek on the way out. 

“You want me to see what I have for you to wear?” you ask, pausing in the doorway. Jake looks up, visibly relieved at the offer, or that you’re leaving, or something, and nods. “I can bring ‘em in while you’re in there, if that’s cool.” He looks a little conflicted at that one, but nods again. “Towels are in the closet, use whatever products you want, just not the--” You point at each bottle as you list them off. “--red one on the top left, grey one on the right, and the light orange one on the middle shelf. Those are off limits.”

Jake chuckles at your specificities, starting to run the tub. He picks up a few different bottles of bubble bath. You leave the room, and close the door behind you.

In your room, you find shirts that were definitely Jake’s at one point, the ones you swim in, the ones where the neck is too big and the ‘short’ sleeves go down to your elbows. Even Earth C isn’t immune to calling clothes purposefully too big ‘boyfriend’ clothes. You push that thought aside hastily. After a few minutes, you hear the tap shut off and the shower curtain close, metal hooks scraping against the metal bar. Humming to yourself, you find a suitable pair of sweatpants and a shirt to go with it. 

You knock softly at the door and open it. Jake makes a noise in surprise. 

“Just me,” you murmur, but you can see his tense silhouette through the curtain. That’s all you can see of him, the outline of a head and shoulders sinking deeper into the water. “Found some clothes.” You place the shirt and sweats on the counter beside the sink. He peeks his head out, sliding the curtain back just slightly; the bubbles come up to his neck, and from what you can see, the water is as opaque as he could get it. You wave, and he waves back, before shutting the curtain. 

You leave, closing the door behind you, and lean against it to speak. “I’ll be in my room if you need me. Sorry for interruptin’ you. Take your time.”

Jake’s voice comes back muffled. “It’s quite alright.” You get a feeling it’s not. “And, thank you. I appreciate it very much, Dirk.” Your heart skips a beat when he says your name. You go back to your room and sit on the edge of the bed, staring at your hands. That familiar, restless energy starts to build in you, anxiety and self-loathing cropping up again.

It’s perfectly fucking logical why Jake wouldn’t want you to see him. He’s been hurt, you remind yourself sternly, and he’s come to you for comfort. Even if you might be one of those people who hurt him, that awful, doubting part of your brain pipes up. You huff through your nose, frustrated, crossing your arms. You could have done something. And Jake’s not here to tell you it’s not your fault, so you’re allowed to wallow. You could have stopped Hal sooner, you could have spoken up against Vriska, you could have ~~stopped Aranea from trying to kiss him, stopped Jane from trying to~~ no, that wasn’t you, you couldn’t have, but you could have prevented him from going trickster, could have done _something._

You’re not sure when you started pacing.

It started with that fucking “Jake’s ass is on TV again” snap Jade sent. There was something about it that put you off, but Jake had always been confident with his body. He didn’t see anything sexy about shorts, they were comfortable and he liked them. Then you ~~went and commented on his legs when he went godt~~ _no,_ that _wasn’t_ you, _you_ weren’t there, you were put off by how many people were suddenly ogling him with all his billboards. You should have seen it sooner, you’re a fucking idiot. You all arrived on Earth C and weren’t old enough to drink or smoke, your brains not fully developed yet; Jane was barely eighteen when she started with Crockercorp, and Jake was barely six months older than her starting to model for SkaiaNet. Then you were nineteen and a half, a college dropout, no longer wearing shades everywhere and welding bots in your worn out little can house when Jake decided to drop by. He’d gotten stronger, taller, you hadn’t seen him in months. He looked good. He kissed you and you kissed him back and he ran away. You only saw him in person at the Creator’s Luncheons, and you didn’t talk to him. Then you isolated yourself. Moved out here. Considered getting lost in the woods. Considered a lot of things. It’s all your fault, isn’t it?

And now you’re having all these memories and nightmares and fuckingheadaches. You’re not yourself some days, sometimes you feel like wearing a sweater vest because that’s what Dirk Crocker wore, sometimes you itch to find your shades again and take out your anger on someone, sometimes you imagine that you’re out in the Furthest Ring, killing ghosts left and right. Sometimes the urges are benign; Dirk English loved exploring, and you know these woods pretty damn well. Mostly, though, they’re not. But you’re in control. You’re still the one in control. You’re practically wearing a trench into the floor.

Distantly, you hear the bedroom door open.

“Are you alright?”

You freeze halfway through a step, and look over your shoulder. Jake is standing in the doorway, clean, wearing your clean clothes, tilting his head at you like a curious puppy. Shame washes over you.

“...Overthinking,” you eventually mutter.

“What about?”

“Everything.” You want to dismiss this. You don’t want him to be mad at you. “It’s- it’s stupid.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” He’s so earnest. You should be dead.

“I should have been there.” You swallow, staring at the floor and forcing yourself calm. “That’s all.”

“You’re here now,” Jake says, “Doesn’t that count for something?”

“I suppose. Able to stop things before they can get worse.” You’re getting worse. Jake hesitates in the door, fidgeting.

“Is it--” You shouldn’t even be this emotional. You’re supposed to be helping him. That’s why you’re here. “Is it alright if I hold you?”

“ _Please_.”

Jake is up beside you in an instant, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close. You hug him back, chest tight. He kisses the top of your head. Your face is pressed to his neck, your shoulders shake, you don’t make much of a sound. It’s nice to be close. The pressure of his arms around you helps.

“I’m here,” he murmurs, “I’ve got you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Whatever for?”

You swallow and take a deep breath. “For being so horrible.”

“How exactly have you been horrible, then?”

Where do you fucking start.

“Manipulative. Obnoxious. Putting people down.” You can’t stop. Maybe he’ll realize that you aren’t any good to be around, once you list all the shit wrong with you. “Pushing people away. Pressuring people to change to my liking. Getting hurt.” _Hurting myself._ “Isolating myself when I get bad. Letting myself even get this bad.” You hold him a little tighter, like he might float away. You breathe, however strained.

“We can work on all of that,” he says gently, tucking some of your hair behind your ear, “Together. Alright?”

“A-alright.” You don’t understand. “I believe you.” He kisses your forehead, and brushes his thumb under your eye like you did for him, catching a stray tear. “Thank you.” He only kisses your cheeks in response, and it makes you laugh, makes you crack the smallest smile as you catch him in a full kiss. You don’t want to stop kissing him. 

He’s radiant, in your ratty old shirt and baggy sweatpants, kissing you and smelling of pomegranate and citrus shampoo. Far outside, thunder rumbles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hee yaw. lets hope the next one isnt too short but its gonna be about jake just. fucking hating being famous, if that wasnt clear enough already. im so tired. if you think i got emotional writing part of this then you will easily believe that i cried outlining chapter 5. seeyall next time! 
> 
> comments and kudos are greatly appreciated <3


	4. rock n' roll life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jake hates being famous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for the shorter chapter, but this plot point had to stand apart from the next one thematically

“Do you want to try to get some of your stuff from your place?”

It’s late in the afternoon, a day or two later, the two of you sitting at your kitchen table over cups of tea. 

“I want to,” Jake says, sipping his drink, “but I know there’s going to be paparazzi.”

“Not if you have a direct transport.”

He considers this, humming. “True.”

“And - and this is just a theory - wouldn’t you be able to believe that we wouldn’t be seen by any photographers?” 

“What?” He quirks an eyebrow at you. “I can wish all I want, but they always manage to get me on camera.”

“I mean, you Hoped that coffee into existence the other morning,” you point out, gesturing to the container of instant coffee on your counter.

“No, I didn’t!” he says, “Who doesn’t keep coffee in their kitchen?”

“I ran out of coffee five days ago,” you say,“and that isn’t my usual brand.” You sip your tea. “I’m just saying. It’s possible.”

“No it’s not. I’m…” Jake looks conflicted, fidgeting in his seat. “I’m not _capable_ of anything like that. Aren’t I just supposed to be moral support?” You’re not going to win this one. You drink the rest of your tea, putting the mug down and changing the subject.

“Does your place have a direct transport?”

“You know?” Jake drums his fingers on the table. “I don’t actually recall.” The Skaianet estate is the largest on the block; it was like the builders just kept adding rooms to the house where they weren’t needed, something out of an absurd children’s book. Fifteen and a half bathrooms, movie theater, bowling alley, spaceship parking, laboratory, seventeen bedrooms, armor room, trophy room, library, it just kept going.

"Hm," you say instead, not liking what you may have to do, "Where's the nearest hub?"

"A few streets down? Not terribly far."

"Hoodies could help disguise us." You think back to all the tabloids your brother tried so desperately to not be seen by. _Famed director Dave Strider seen outside grocery store. Dave Strider seen going to comedian's funeral: an longtime friendship? Dave Strider and author Rose Lalonde spotted returning to Lalonde's home._ He hated those things. He wore the worst outfits possible, flipped off all the cameras, even wore glasses instead of shades to obscure his identity. "Throw on a hat, cover your mouth with a scarf, something like that." Jake hums, taking another sip of his drink. "I'll keep my hair down, too. Won't wear my shades. It shouldn't take too long."

"If you're sure," Jake says, uncertain. 

"We'll keep it quick. As quick as possible," you say, and he reluctantly nods, "Are you okay with this?"

"Yes, yes," he says, "I can handle a quick trip."

"You want to get ready? I got some extra hats and dust masks around." 

Jake takes a deep, steadying breath, nodding again. "Okay. Yes. Alright."

You stand. "And I'll be there the whole time. I won't leave you."

"Promise?" Jake stands as well, coming to your side.

"I promise." He hugs you, and you can feel his heart thumping in his chest. You squeeze him back, closing your eyes for a moment. You pull back, taking his hand and bringing him up the stairs. “Everything’s up here.”

“Right, right.” He follows you up, seeming a little absent. He goes to your closet, digging through and pulling out a hoodie of yours, and a dust mask you’ve never seen before. You glance past him, and see all the other dust masks you own. All of them are there. You snag a jacket and glance in the mirror at your unstyled hair. It’s getting long. You’ll have to get on that. You look up at Jake through your bangs.

“Ready?” you ask. He jumps slightly, turning to look at you. He stares for a moment, lips parted, mask in his hands. “Jake?”

“Oh. Right. Yes.” He blushes, glancing away and pulling the mask on. You smile slightly, but the tension is clear. “Let us go, then.” Back down you go. Jake squeezes your hand tight, pulling the hood up over his hair, and punches in the coordinates for the hub. It’s late enough in the day, there shouldn’t be too many people out.

You were wrong.

It’s fucking crowded.

It makes sense, in a way - the Human Kingdom’s typical workday ends at 5 o’clock. The Human Kingdom’s capital is in a different time zone than the one you live in. It was 6 o’clock when you left. The hub closest to the Skaianet estate is bustling, to say the least. No one seems to pay you any mind, just two dudes getting through the transportalizer and getting to their destination. The streets are busy - people getting around, cars honking, traffic, everything you hate about the Human Capital. Jake leads you through, glancing around nervously. You get away from the hub, walking towards Jake’s neighborhood.

You notice the pack of photographers before Jake does, and tighten your grip on his hand. He tenses up, looking around, making a small sound when he spots the group. You shield him as you walk, thinking of all of your brother’s tactics. Can’t sell the photos if they’re inappropriate. You flip the cameras off with your free hand, a head shorter than Jake but guarding him all the same. You glare at the cameras, pushing Jake along. He flinches at every click and flash. Any photos that sell will get removed fucking immediately; if you can’t do it yourself, then Roxy can. 

Jake’s hands shake as he opens the door, and you lock it as soon as the two of you are through. There’s a small gate around the house to keep the photographers out, but it isn’t enough. You can still hear them, see them, outside the windows by the door, but lean against it to catch your breath nevertheless.

“Fuckin’ get what my bro did what he did, now,” you grit out, shooting another dirty look at the windows. Jake takes a deep, shaking breath, closing his eyes. 

“This isn’t even that bad,” he says.

“I can imagine,” you say, squeezing Jake’s hand, trying to help ground him, “He wore the same outfit whenever he went out. Made it look like they were all taken on the same day.”

“Ah. That’s clever. I was about to say the worst it’s ever been was when they broke in when I was in the W.C.!” Jake stands up, back straight, grinning at you. Gold fog rolls out of his mouth as he speaks. He looks like a movie star telling a funny joke, and he knows anyone who can’t see right through him will laugh.

“Mother fuck,” you snarl, shaking your head. You glare at the door again, but get tired after a moment. “You can quit the act,” you sigh, “They won’t get in here.”

“...I just.” Jake shakes his head, facade dropping for half a second. “Don’t feel safe.”

“I don’t either,” you admit.

Jake snaps back into his movie star persona, grinning at you. “Right! Let’s get my things, shall we?”

“Let’s,” you say, “Lead the way.”

Jake leads you up the grand staircase, past suits of armor and gold gilding, shitty trophies that don’t go in the trophy room, shitty paintings on the walls, it’s tacky and you’re starting to get annoyed. You pass four doors, all guest rooms, before getting to the master bedroom. You know from sneaking through that all four rooms have tunnels into the master.

The master bedroom is worse. It’s not Jake’s room from before the game. Nothing looks comfortable. Nothing looks lived in. It’s sterile, and all the mirrors are covered in huge blankets. You hate it. You go to the closet quickly, looking for anything good, anything more comfortable than the room you’re in. Long sleeve shirts, flannels, sweatpants, something. 

You find… not a lot. You find a lot of stock-standard “slutty” clothes, though. Crop tops, deep necklines, shorts that are barely more than briefs, Jesus Christ, are these gold lamé hotpants? Disgusted, you throw those to the ground. You pull what you can find out, barely anything, and bring them over to Jake. He shouldn’t have to deal with this. He shouldn’t have to go through this. He seems to have better luck on the clothing front. You recognize some of the stuff, mostly pajamas - old, ratty things, t-shirts from before the game or from charity events, long, baggy sweatpants, loose pairs of boxers. There’s a bag on the bed, and you stuff everything into it. No time for ceremony.

“Anything else you need? Toothbrush, that kind of stuff?” Jake stares at the covered mirror and you shake his shoulder to get his attention. He startles, murmuring another non-committal, “oh, right, yes,” before shuffling off to the bathroom. He doesn’t close the door, and is careful to not touch anything. The embroidered towels have clearly never been used. The shower curtain is a deep green. There is no bathroom mirror. The toothbrush and toothpaste he shuffles out with have probably never been used either. You wander away and run your hand over the blanket, keeping in another quiet sigh. There is… so much, here. Not literally, but it’s in the air. It’s in the room, is in the blanket on the mirror, it’s in the sunlight allowed through the windows. It buzzes under your skin; you scratch your arm idly. 

Jake goes to the wall, taking one last item with him. He goes back over to you, showing it to you; it’s a photograph from during the game. You remember taking it, vaguely. Jane alchemized a little polaroid camera; Fefeta took the photo. You have an arm around Roxy’s middle, Roxy is leaning on Jane, and Jake has his arms around you, chin on top of your head. All of you are smiling. It was before things started to get bad, a few months into the game, before Jane’s birthday, before Jake started avoiding you. You sigh. “...We should go.”

“We should.” You gather up Jake’s things. He walks up the window, looking down at the photographers. A camera flashes. He flinches. You tug at his hand.

“Sweetheart. C’mon.” Another vacant nod, and he follows you through, deeper into the house, down the stairs and towards the garage. He glances over his shoulder every so often, looking at the windows and at the photographers outside. He’s shaking. “You’re safe,” you say, “You’re with me, you’re safe.”

“Right,” he says, still looking towards the windows. Someone knocks a few times, and he shrinks. They’re shouting questions, and Jake looks like he wants nothing more than to just cover his ears and keep them all blocked out. “Right, I am. You’re here.” He sounds like he doesn’t believe it. You pass various doors on the ground floor, looking for something that could possibly the transportalizer room. As expected, it’s near the garage, but not the regular garage - no, it’s where the spaceships are parked. You pull him onto the pad, and his grip as he clings to your hand is vice-like, wheezing out golden fog. Keeping the bag of his things balanced is precarious, but you type in your near-impossible set of coordinates and smacking the enter key harder than necessary. The air sucks in around you, squeezing and compressing you into nothingness as all of your molecules are placed somewhere completely different. You stumble out into your untraceable little home.

“I hate it there. I fucking hate it,” you declare, feeling Jake relax, slumping, dropping your hand, “Now. Now we will never go back. Fuck that city. This is why I came out here in the first place. Fuck.”

“You know, after having stayed here for some time, I can see why,” Jake says, setting his bag down on the counter, “It’s very nice. I’d really, _really_ rather not go back.”

“You and me both.” You drop your bag to the ground, allowing yourself to lean against the wall. “This is why we were out in the Consort Kingdom originally. No one there but some friendly game constructs who would mind their own damn business.”

“Should have just stayed there. Not left and been all ridiculous.” Jake shakes his head, sitting at one of the stools by the counter.

“Technically this is in the Human Kingdom, but it’s the middle of fuckin’ nowhere.” 

“I mean,” Jake says, looking up, “I suppose we’re not exactly human anymore, are we?” That makes you pause, a brief moment of fear shooting through you. Are you human? Have you ever been human? You’re the one who seemed to be more machine than man, after all.

“We look like ‘em. Act like ‘em,” is what you say instead, any questions of your own humanity firmly stamped back down, “Godhood doesn’t totally matter, y’know? We’re just celebrities with powers.”

“That’s one way of looking at it.” Jake sighs, bitter. “It’s horribly lonely, is what it is.”

You chuckle sadly, sitting next to him. “I took a couple college classes when we first got here. It’s, uh- it’s not easy to talk to other kids your age once they found out who you are.”

“It’s really not. I suppose it’d just be easier to let go, wouldn’t it. Turn into a hermit. I guess that’s sort of what you did.”

“But… but it gets so lonely. So isolated. Like we can’t win.”

“Maybe that’s the point,” Jake says, “It was always a rigged game. Monkey’s paw, if you will. We won the game, but at the cost of being miserable losers at the age of twenty-one.”

“Pretty shitty happy ending, then,” you scoff, “We’re alive, we won, but we’ll never be normal people.” A bolt of pain shoots through your sternum, making you wince, making your breath hitch. “We- we should get your stuff upstairs.”

“Are you alright?” Jake leans in, looking at your face. You avoid eye contact.

“Just…” You want to dismiss it. It’s not that much of an issue, you think. “Keep getting these weird pains. They started when I started getting the memories and headaches.”

“Oh dear.” You hop down from the stool, going to grab Jake’s things, both bags. “Well, that can’t be good. Should we see a doctor? Is this something a doctor can treat?”

You shake your head, giving a sharp bark of laughter. “It’s not,” you say, words sour in your mouth, “It’s- it’s not even real. They’re just- phantom pains. They don’t- it doesn’t--” You can’t get the words out, teeth gritted. “--Doesn’t matter.” You huff in frustration, half-stomping up the stairs.

“But--” Jake follows a few steps behind. You look at him, and he looks like a lost puppy. “--you’re hurting.”

“I’ve always been hurting, Jake,” you snap, “It sounds fucking edgy, but it’s true.” You continue back up the stairs, through the bedroom door, dropping his things at the foot of the bed. You don’t want him to see you like this, your face hot from embarrassment, your eyes watering. He steps on the creaky floorboard. “I haven’t- I’ve never been normal. _We_ have never been normal. This time it just happens to be physical. I- I can’t explain it.” All the anger drains from you. “...It hurts,” you finish. Jake comes up behind you, gently touching a hand to the nape of your neck.

“Is there anything I can do to ease it?” he asks, so earnest and kind. You can’t handle it. You take a deep breath and release it, shuddering.

“I don’t know,” you say. You hate yourself and what you’re becoming. “...I’m- I’m scared, Jake.”

“I know. It must be terrifying” Slowly, gently, Jake wraps his arms around you, chin on your shoulder when you know he’s much taller than that. There’s something he’s not letting on. Something more. “Where was the pain this time?”

“Chest.” Your voice is little more than a tense gasp. “Like I. Like I got stabbed.”

“Show me?” He moves one of his hands over top of yours. Your movements are stiff, but you raise your hand and tap your sternum twice. His hand follows yours, touching the spot. You feel an energy flow into your chest, warm and inviting, as any pain that may have been there has been alleviated for as long as Jake Believes it can be. The next flash of pain eases away, and you take a deep breath. You don’t feel as heavy; your soul feels lighter. You relax into his arms.

“Don’t know how you do it,” you sigh.

“...I think I might be starting to figure it out myself.” Jake has always had the most potential out of all of you, the ability to bend reality around him though he never knew how. You all became gods, and you’re still ascending. You get the feeling that Jake is, too, the potential of every Jake to exist slowly condensing into the Jake holding you. Maybe he’s starting to change in the same way you are, bending reality to his will without knowing he’s doing it. He’s too focused on someone else, now. “Would you rather have a lie-down, or get the clothes we brought put away.”

“I- I don’t know.” You’re still reeling, that missing piece of your soul leaving you confused. You search internally for that version of yourself, another violent man violently dying, but you can’t find him. He’s not there. You don’t know if that’s a relief or not. “We should put your stuff away,” you say. 

Jake squeezes you, humming. “I can put them away while you supervise?” You don’t move. You breathe. That piece of your infinity is missing, and it didn’t hurt in the same way the other pieces you’ve removed have. Not that you’ve tested that much. Eventually, blankly, you nod. There’s something about you that’s changing, and you hate every single part of it.

“There’s…” You blink a few times, hollow. You’re so tired. “...there’s space in the closet.’

“Alright.” Jake moves you, very gently, to the bed, helping you lie down. He rearranges your limbs into something comfortable. You stare into the middle distance, disconnected. “We’re hermits now, anyhow. We don’t have to follow any kind of schedule.”

“We don’t,” you say, words clear but clumsy in your mouth, “My sleep schedule is already in ruins. It’s alright.”

“Mine is as well,” he chuckles. He hesitates for a moment, but leans in, pressing his lips to your forehead. Warmth blooms from the spot, and your head starts to clear. Then he pulls away, pulling the bags of clothes towards the closet and starting to hang things up. You blink a few times, not moving from your spot, but you find the energy to watch Jake. You’re okay, you’ll be okay. And you want Jake to be okay, fuck, you want to help him so badly. He hums to himself as he puts clothes away. You sit up, slow, but your head feels clear. You’re present. You’re here, in the moment.

“There’re spare hangers in the box in the back,” you say.

“Oh! Thank you!” Jake flashes a bright smile in your direction, leaning to grab the box. He picks up a few more hangers, hanging up the rest of his clothes. He’s quick about it; you didn’t grab much. There wasn’t much to grab. You get up, crossing the room to walk up behind him. You rest your forehead between Jake’s shoulder blades, arms around his waist. He’s warm and solid against you.

“I want you to feel alright with me,” you murmur. He pauses, having just put an oversized t-shirt away, but lowers his arms, putting them on top of yours.

“This is the closest to ‘alright’ that I’ve felt in a very long time,” he says quietly.

“...Okay,” you say. You kiss the nape of his neck, before resting your head again. “I’m… glad.”

“As am I.” Jake hums at the kiss, not pulling away.

“We’re safe. Just… fucked up.”

“Incredibly fucked up.” Jake laughs softly, turning around and holding you in return. You fit nicely into his arms. You chuckle, kissing the side of Jake’s neck; it’s the closest spot to reach. He laughs again, voice as warm as the last kiss he gave you. “Goodness. Someone’s feeling affectionate.”

“I just love you,” you say, “And I still can’t believe I get to have you again.”

“I think you’ll always have me, somehow,” he says, fingers running through the hair on the back of your head.

“You’re amazing,” you sigh softly, tilting up to see his face. A little pink blush dusts over his cheeks.

“Well, so are you.”

You let out another little laugh. “Do you want to go downstairs? We could watch something. I got Hal to hack Earth C’s number one streaming service.”

“Ooh. Might be nice.” There’s a lingering tension in Jake, something he’s not saying. You just want to cuddle - does he think you’ll want more? The last thing you want is to hurt him, to push him past what he’s comfortable with. But you head down the stairs regardless, the couch calling your names.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when will i update at human times of day. probably never, seeing as im stuck at home now lol. keep yourselves safe! comments and kudos are always appreciated


	5. the death of st. jimmy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Jimmy died today  
>  He blew his brains out into the bay  
> In the state of mind  
> It's my own private suicide  
> _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "part 1: the death of st jimmy" is about the killing of a part of oneself, there is no actual suicide. that being said: mentions of gore, technical character death, discussions of sex, a Lot of soul nonsense
> 
> i will be going back through to get any mistakes later

It kind of makes sense that everything would culminate like this. That it would reach a boiling point where you couldn’t control it. There’s something off, as the two of you lay on the couch in your pajamas, arms mutually around one another, watching Earth C’s version of _Ponyo_. You can sense the souls inside him, how many there are. You wonder how many have counterparts to the souls inside you. 

“I can tell you about some of the better Dirks, if you want,” you offer. He looks down at you with an eyebrow raised. “You know, the ones that are parallel us-es.”

“I think I’d like that.” He turns the volume down a few notches.

“There’re a few timelines where we’re switched,” you start.

“Oh?”

“Dirk English and Jake Strider.” You close your eyes, picturing Jake Strider in your mind’s eye. Tall, dark, handsome. Wanted to make movies. Dirk English was enamored by him, practically starstruck. He watched every single one of Jade Strider’s documentaries.

“Huh,” Jake says, “Do you get the Dirks or the Jakes?”

“The Dirks,” you say, and he hums. You get more comfortable, trying to remember everything about Dirk English. “He built his own robot to protect the island. Lived with his brother before his brother died.” Jake’s breathing stutters for a second, and you move on to something more lighthearted. “He had a hopeless little crush on his best friend. That cool guy, Jake Strider.”

Jake snorts. “Probably not so hopeless.” You hum and rest your head on his shoulder. “Tell me about a nice memory from Dirk English? I miss the island so much.” You think for a moment, trying to conjure up the images. You let Dirk English surface, let him wonder why his body isn’t quite right, and where he is, and the memories come back.

“His Jake sent him a- a new pair of glasses at one point,” you say, “His own were super broken, triple-taped, and he had just- horrible vision. And Strider sent him new glasses, green frames that matched his eyes, and he was so--” The joy he felt swells up in your chest, making your breath hitch. He was so open with his emotions, he felt them so strongly, loved everything with his whole heart and everyone with it too. His eyes welled up with tears; he wanted nothing more than to grab Strider by his stupid handsome face and kiss him until that blasted pokerface of his would just break. “So elated.” Jake hums, squeezing you a little closer. “He was blond. Green eyes. And he thought the shades his Jake wore were so dumb, but- but handsome. They suited him.”

“Square like mine, or sharp like yours?”

“Square.” Strider sent some of his grandmother’s later documentaries before they were released - they were fascinating. If he could have met the woman, he would have. His brother had been a big fan. “And his grandmother made subversive films. Docuseries and stuff. She wore this big circular sunglasses, no one ever saw her eyes.” You gesture with your hands, making the shape of glasses, like the ones Jade wears. Jake laughs, and your hearts swell.

“That does sound a bit like Gran,” he says, chuckling into your hair.

“Her right hand man was a comedian who wrote… how do I put it.” John Lalonde was a legend. His television specials were hilarious, but apparently they took darker turns as time went on. Strider was the one to tell you all this - he sent you some of those, as well. “Revolutionary joke books?”

Jake starts to reach a hand up, but stops.

“Er,” he hazards, “May I pet your hair?”

You chuckle, snuggling closer. “Go for it,” you say, “No gel. It might be nice.” He runs his fingers through your hair carefully, combing our hair out of your face. You sigh softly, letting your body stay relaxed. “He looked like a nerd in those glasses.”

“A terribly cute nerd, I’m sure,” Jake teases, and you feel your cheeks heat up slightly.

“In the same way you’re cute. He was both of us, after all,” you retort, grinning. 

“It’s lovely to hear that I’m cute.”

“Y’should hear it more often, sweetheart.” You trace a finger over his collarbone. “Most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Jake’s hand stills in your hair, and you don’t miss how he freezes. You fucked up, you did something wrong. He laughs nervously.

“Oh, my goodness.”

“Was that too much?” It’s all going fucking pear-shaped, isn’t it.

“I…” Jake sighs, looking away. His hand drops to your shoulder. “I like ‘cute’ better.” You fucked up, you fucked up so bad. You try to not let it destroy you. “It feels like a personality judgement, rather than just appearance?”

“I meant it personality-wise, too,” you say, all too quickly, “But I’ll stick to cute. You’re a real cutie. An absolute sweetheart.” He leans on you, and you take the opportunity to gather him up in your arms. 

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” You tuck a lock of hair behind his ear. “I get it.”

“And, er--” He seems nervous again, like you’ll refuse him for saying whatever it is he needs to say. “I- I know it hasn’t come up yet, but please don’t call me sexy. Or hot. Anything of the sort, it’s all--”

“I won’t.” You draw him a little closer, protective, and kiss the crown of his head. “You’re safe. I don’t want to hurt you. If there’s--” God damn it. You’re not fucking allowed to get choked up. Not right now. It’s _not_ about you. “--anything else. Please.”

“I…” He squirms, and you let him go. He fidgets, not looking at you, a slight blush coloring his cheeks. “I wouldn’t mind doing, er. Sex things. If you like.” Oh. Not. Not what you were expecting. The blush catches you off guard, the embarrassment of telling a boy he likes that he’d be okay doing sex stuff? Wait, Jake’s still talking. “But I’d rather not be touched below the belt. Or be naked.” 

You’re a little messed up. Your ideals of give and take are a little skewed. You’re okay giving without returns, or letting people take. That means you’re wanted and useful. If things are reciprocated, even better, they like you enough to return the favor. But doing things for you with nothing in return? You can barely process it. Your worry the inside of your bottom lip with your teeth. 

“...Okay.” There are precisely three inches between your shoulders and Jake’s. That distance should either be much further or much closer, and at this point, you’re not sure which would be better. “You won’t- I won’t ask you to,” you manage, “Not unless you’re okay with it.”

Jake lets out a breath you didn’t know he was holding. He nearly sags beside you. 

“I might even be happy to--” He stops himself, choosing his words. “--to get you off. As long as you don’t expect me to get naked in return. I just--” He shakes his head. “I can’t.”

“I know,” you say quietly. You don’t want to hurt him. Not again. Not ever. You don’t want to ask too much, either - is it selfish? To want to be near him? “...Can I kiss you?” _Is that alright?_

“Yes,” Jake says, sure but unconfident, “I’d- I’d like that a lot." You keep everything you do slow and predictable; if you scare him off now, you’re done for. And you can’t let that happen. You scoot closer and tilt his head down by the chin, softly kissing him. He’s quick to kiss back, pulling you in that extra two inches, arms around your waist. When you break apart it’s nothing fantastical, no gasping for breath or diving back in; it was a kiss with the boy you’re in love with, and you settle back down to continue the movie. Jake leans into you, sometimes kisses your hair. You snort at the comments he makes and he laughs as you laud the animation. There’s a twinge every so often in the back of your mind, a phantom of a sensation, but you brush it aside, continuing to trace spirals onto Jake’s knee. The movie ends. It’s sweet. Jake is heavy against your shoulder, and you shift, getting his attention.

“You tired?” A murmur.

“Not terribly.” A mumble back. “I’m just… relaxed, I suppose.”

“That’s good.” He hums, and kisses your temple. You hum back, curling into him closer. “Could go upstairs. Get some sleep. I know it’s a little early, but, still. And you got plenty of pajamas now.”

Jake chuckles near your ear, and it gives you goosebumps. “Very true.”

You extract yourself from his arms, standing, stretching, offering him a hand. He takes it, and you can feel something in there. Not just his hand under your grasp, but the hands of every Jake to exist. They’re swirling within him, and you can feel how much it hurts. They spiral down, down, down into Jake’s core and through his eyes, golden and blinding white. There’s something blocking them. He doesn’t want to know, he doesn’t want to feel it. Your own souls boil inside you, rolling and crashing like the waves against your apartment, but in this moment, all of them reach out, reach out to all of Jake’s. You focus in that second, your souls grasping the hands of his, steadying them. Letting them know it’s okay, that they’ll fix it. You’re going to do your damnedest to help him, you have to. That barrier in him shatters; Jake flinches. You immediately feel bad. You drop his hand as he gets to his feet.

“Sorry,” you say, a little sheepish, “That was a. Brash move.” Fucking understatement. You head for the stairs, and he catches your hand on the way up.

“It’s alright,” he says, “I can’t say I’m all too sure of what you did, though.”

You shrug. “Tried to fix it,” you say noncommittally, “Nothin’ too bad.”

“Fix… what?” He closes the bedroom door behind him.

“You’re all…” With your free hand, you gesture vaguely at Jake. “The souls. You’re going Ultimate.” 

“What? What does that even mean?”

“It’s the…” You don’t even know how to explain it. It wasn’t explained all too well to you; it’s the next step to godhood. “It’s what’s happening to me. With all the memories. The infinite compounding of the selves.” Jake tilts his head at you, making a puzzled sound. “Like, adding souls upon souls into one body.”

“Sounds a bit farfetched.” It’s not happening if he doesn’t believe in it. That’s how his powers work. He says it’s not true, and it isn’t, so long as he believes it.

But he believes you. And it is happening.

“I know,” you sigh, “C’mere.” You pull Jake onto the bed, laying on your side with him on top of the covers. “”It’s- It’s scary. You don’t have to pretend like it isn’t.” He drapes an arm over your waist.

“It’s not really happening, though, is it? I’m not nearly powerful enough for that sort of thing.”

“I wish.” You place your palm flat against his chest. The souls are steady for now, a few of them starting to move around. “But they’re in here. A little more hopeful than mine, if it means anything.” You think about the other yous, the ones that want power, the ones that want out. Jake’s chest rises and falls under your hand, his heart beating. “A little more okay with being in there. They’re not fighting you.” _Not fighting for control._ “They… They want to help you become the best you can be.”

“Well, that’s…” Jake chuckles, awkward. “Terrifying.”

“...Yeah.”

“Is that bad? That I’d rather not be my best self?” You frown, looking up at him. “I feel like from what everyone’s told me, my best self would be rather unhappy.”

“No, no, it makes sense.” You go back to tracing his collarbone. A sharp pain coursing through your neck once again. You want it to stop. You want it to stop. You swallow back some pathetic whimper, keeping that fear down. “It’s like, all the good versions and the bad versions and the versions of yourself in between.” Jake pauses. He noticed your flinch. 

“...Show me where it hurt this time.” No. No, you can’t.

“Neck, again.” You start to pull away; he tries to pull you in closer. “Don’t--” you gasp, and he lets go. You sit up. You don’t look at him, filled with a grim type of determination. “I’m going to try something.” He stays quiet.

You go off to the side of the room, taking a deep breath. Might as well try this again. You’ve only done this a few times. You feel the electricity dance over your knuckles as you bring a hand up, glowing pink, and reach towards your neck. Your hair stands on end as a bolt zaps towards your scar making connection, feeling like static on your skin. You hold that bolt tight, slowly coaxing that soul out, eyes closed. Jake inhales sharply. When you open them, another you is standing in your room. He’s young, maybe sixteen, his form flickering and unsteady. He’s godtier. His eyes are wild, panicked, his neck covered in gore. He looks around frantically, spotting the older version of his best friend over on your bed.

“Jake--” he gasps. It was Heroic.

You pull the last parts of him from you, releasing your clenched fist; the pink glow blinks out. The other you vanishes. You fall to your knees, breathing hard, numb.

“I- I’m sorry.” Your voice doesn’t sound like your own, too hollow. “That you had to see that.” 

Socks on carpet. Jake kneeling in front of you. Fuck. You made him cry. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you in tight. He sobs into your shoulder. A damp patch forms on your shirt. You stare straight ahead until you don't, until you realize where you are and who you are and what just happened and you’re shaking, you’re not real, you’re too real, you’re wrapping your arms around him and holding him just as tight. A damp patch forms on his shirt. Jake’s anguish is so palpable, so whole and overpowering; it’s not just him crying. It’s all of him. All versions of him that knew all versions of you, sobbing for their best friends and worst enemies and true loves. You don’t know if he’s crying for you, or the you that just vanished. Maybe it’s both. Maybe it’s neither.

“He was dead,” you force between breaths, “He was dead and he didn’t want to be there and I didn’t want him to be there.” You can’t stop shaking. “He shouldn’t have- shouldn’t have been there and was hurting and was _scared._ I did us both a favor.” Jake listens quietly, and knows. He knows, he knows and he doesn’t want to know, but he does, and every version of him does. You almost want to reach in and pull the version of him that belonged to that version of you out so they’re no longer separated.

“I wish- I wish there was some way to help,” Jake says miserably, “To make him less afraid. All of them. All of you.”

“They don’t join me if they’re still alive.” You try to breathe. Try to steady yourself. Shaky breath after shaky breath. “They don’t know why they’re in there, either. And I don’t know if you can do anything about it.” You let yourself go limp against him - he’s strong enough to hold you up. “It’ll get easier, doing that. I know which ones are the worst. The ones that deserve it.” You can’t get the afterimage of your - his - _your_ flickering form out of your mind. “...He didn’t deserve that.”

“He didn’t.” Jake smooths your hair down.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. Wasn’t his either. He--” Jake stops, voice thick. He chokes a sob back down. “I’m pretty sure he died trying to- to save--” He doesn’t finish, instead burying his face in your neck again. He doesn’t need to say it. You already know. You can feel the soul of the Jake left behind, crying out and reaching for you. There’s nothing you can do for him. He died. They all died in the end. It’s the consequence of existing outside the main timeline.

“I know,” you say, and you can’t stop saying it, “I know, I know, I know. Jake, I--” You pull back, wiping your eyes. You cup his cheek, and he turns his face into your hand. Kisses your palm. “You’re the most important person in my entire fucking life. I’m sorry you had to see that but I’m going to fix it.” You feel that grim determination come back. “I _need_ to fix it.”

“Not alone?” Jake’s belief in you is going to kill you one day.

“Not alone. We can--” You stand, unsteady, and offer him a hand. You need to lie down. To wipe your eyes and process all this. “We can do something. Figure something out. Terezi might- she might know about this. I- I don’t know.” Jake wobbles to the bed with you, silent. There are two glasses of water and box of tissues on the nightstand that wasn’t before. You didn’t put them there. He must have. You don’t question it and drain half of the water in one go. “Fuck,” you say, head pounding, “Jesus fucking shit.” Jake sips his more cautiously.

“Headache?” You nod. “May I help?”

“There’s… painkillers in the mirror cabinet. Might help with the headaches we’ll eventually have.” 

“I’ll go grab them.” Jake kisses your forehead and leaves, coming back a little too quickly with the painkillers. They’re name brand. You don’t buy this kind. You frown, but accept them, taking two with the rest of your water. You lean back against the pillows and sigh. Jake sits back down.

“You kind of testing have you been doing with your powers, again?”

“I’ve been… well.” Jake rubs the back of his neck. “I haven’t been. Not until when I had tried earlier to… to help you.”

“But you’ve been using them,” you say. He gives you a quizzical look.

“I have?”

“I don’t buy these.” You rattle the painkillers.

“What? I thought you bought the same kind I do.” 

“Which shelf were these on, Jake?” You hand him the bottle; he runs his thumb over the label absently.

“Third down from the top. Where I keep mine. Awfully convenient.” 

“I keep mine on the top shelf.” You chuckle in disbelief, running a hand through your hair. “You didn’t know they were there. You just Believed it.” 

“No, I didn’t!” Jake protests, looking almost... scared, “I didn’t do anything of the sort! _You_ probably forgot you bought them.”

You hum, getting up. You have to catch yourself on the wall, head still spinning, but you gesture Jake to follow you. You lead him into the bathroom and open the mirror cabinet; sure enough, there are your generic brand painkillers, top shelf, on the left. 

“...Huh.” Jake’s shoulders are tense.

“Everything you’ve handed me hasn’t been my usual type,” you say.

“But it _has_ been mine.”

“Yes.” He’s trying to stay calm. You can see it in the furrow of his brows. “But that doesn’t mean I bought it.” You chuckle softly, sighing as you look at him. “You’re doing it without knowing.”

Jake fidgets. “I suppose that isn’t exactly right.” Oh? “Without wanting to know I’m doing it, I think. Pretending it’s not happening.”

“But it’s not working,” you say. He shrugs, feigning casual. “It’s still happening, and you know it.”

“I pretend it’s not happening so I don’t have to think about it happening. It’s very easy to pretend something isn’t happening.” He stops, like he’s hit something big. He clears his throat. “I’ve been… doing it for a very long time, now.”

You frown, offering him your hand. “But it’s not working.”

“It’s not.” He takes your hand. His skin is hot. It’s not human body temperature, not the heat of a fever, he feels _hot_. Like he’s burning up from the inside out. “Um,” he starts, and you look up, biting the inside of your cheek, “Do you mind if I go off on a bit of a tangent?”

“Go for it.”

“It’s this- sort of a folktale. Apparently it was told in Sparta or somewhere to young soldiers. You’d know more about ancient Greece than me, though.” That was a particular area of study for you for a good many years. The fact that he remembers makes you feel in a way. You listen. “Er- anyway. It’s about this young man who’d been out poaching or somesuch, and he managed to snag a fox, but it was still alive.” You don’t know if you’ve heard this one before. “He saw some soldiers approaching him, so he stuffed the fox under his coat and talked to them. They asked him who he was and why he was there and where he was going. And then--” Jake pauses, and you know it isn’t for dramatic effect. “And after about half an hour of questioning he falls down dead. And they took off his coat to find that the fox had chewed a hole in his belly and eaten him from the inside out. But he hadn’t showed a single sign of pain or even discomfort. He just…” You think you get it. Where he’s going with this. “...Stood there calmly, answering their questions while he bled to death.” You nod, thinking.

“We’re that poacher, then.” He makes a noncommittal noise. “Both of us. We’ve got something gnawing. Is that what you mean?”

“...I think so.”

You squeeze his hand, almost too hot to hold. 

“You’re burning up,” you say; Jake gasps in pain. Not the reaction you were expecting, but you pull him down to the floor, to sit on the cold tiles. “Jake?” He’s trembling. He wasn’t before you mentioned it. “I need you to talk to me. I need you to tell me what’s wrong.” You drop his hand and lean in, trying to get a closer look at his eyes. You don’t get a good look; Jake rests his face on your shoulder.

“I couldn’t feel it until you said it,” he murmurs into your neck.

“From believing it wasn’t real.” You hold the back of Jake’s head. Try to get him to breathe with you. “Are you sick?” You already know.

“I- I don’t know.” He’s no longer shaking with his whole body. Just his hands. Progress. “I don’t think so. If I am, I’ve never been sick like this before.” He swallows hard. “Of I’ve always been.” He hasn’t. You know he hasn’t, you know it for a fact.

“I had a theory,” you say haltingly, “Something we might be able to do. I’ll need you to hear me out.”

“What is it?” He sounds so weak. You want this to stop.

“It- it feels cruel. But it’s just a theory.” Jake nods. That’s your cue. “You believe in things hard enough, and they come true. I can feel the souls of people around us. From what John’s told me, Terezi can see into other timelines.” You hold him closer, protectively. “Combining what we can do, we might be able to- to find a timeline similar to our own and… put all this Ultimate shit on them, instead.” Jake is quiet for a moment.

“Then that’d just be another version of us suffering. We’d still be suffering.” You’re a bad person for even suggesting it. You already knew you were a bad person, but this just confirms it. 

“That’s why it feels cruel. I just don’t know what other choice we have,” you say, knowing you sound like some pathetic asshole in how you try to defend yourself. You’re the worst. You’re the worst! It’s you. Maybe you should just- “I- I feel like I’m drowning,” you say instead, “I can feel…” You gesture to your head. “...Some of them. Trying to take over.” 

“Well…” Jake pulls back. He’s earnest. If eyes are the windows to the soul, you wonder how many souls he’s seeing. “Maybe you just need someone to throw you a life raft.”

“Yeah, maybe I do,” you chuckle, pathetically, shoulders slumping. 

“I know this is all one big extended metaphor. But.” _I love your metaphors,_ you want to say. “When I was very little, Gran taught me how to build canoes out of some of the trees on the island in case there was ever a flood. And there were, sometimes. Bad enough that I needed to use them.”

“I had to figure flotation devices pretty quickly,” you mutter. You miss the way your apartment gently rocked, day in and day out. You’ve been considering getting a water bed.

“Think we could put our heads together and figure something out?” Dirk English was still very much you. He wasn’t the Prince of Hope for nothing. But Jake is the Page of Hope. He creates, brings into existence. Brings out potential.

“I think so.” You’re not the best with metaphors, but this one is easy enough. “I could only work with what I had. But… I got more now. And I’m not staring out into the abyss.” Would it have been easier if you disappeared?

“There’s no endless horizon this time.” He cups your cheek the way you did for him before. You mirror the gesture he made; turn your face into his hand. Kiss his palm. “I’m here,” he says, “And you’re here.” You place your hand over his. Hold it to your face. Close your eyes.

“We’re here.”

“We’re here.”

“We can figure it out,” you say. Soft, but assertive. You can. You will. “Maybe we don’t do my first idea. But we have time. We can fix it.”

Jake kisses you.

“We can,” he murmurs against your lips, “And we will.”

You nudge his nose with yours, foreheads pressed together.

“I love you,” you say. You don’t want to stop saying it. You don’t want him to forget.

“I love you too.” He’s no longer as warm.

You pull away, standing and leaning against the sink. Your knees pop. You offer Jake a hand, and he takes it, getting to his feet.

“You’ve cooled down a little,” you comment, twining your fingers with his, “Not as warm.”

“Oh? That’s good,” he says. You focus on his souls; they’ve calmed down. They all lean towards you. They’re all overwhelmed with affection. Sheer relief floods you. You drop his hand and he doesn’t protest.

“I think I might reach out to Roxy later,” you say, and Jake hums, “See how she’s doing.”

“They, actually.” You blink; the surprise must show on your face, because he then says, “I know, it shocked me too.”

“They,” you repeat, “Alright.” Jake yawns. It’s been a long hour or two. “...Maybe I should reach out a little sooner rather than later. I’m gonna head downstairs, I think. So you don’t get bored.” You fish your phone out of your pocket, scrolling through your contacts.

“I’ll be sure to give you a call,” Jake says, hiding another yawn behind his hand. 

“Sounds good.” You lean up and kiss his cheek. “I’ll join you later.”

“I look forward to it.” Jake kisses your cheek in return, and you go your separate ways at the top of the stairs, him to the bedroom, you to the kitchen. You hear the door click shut. Flicking the lights on in the kitchen, you’re filled with an inexplicable dread. The ceiling fan shines a spotlight on the slightly crooked chair; you can see dust particles drifting through the air. The seat is cold. Wooden. It’s a similar time in the Carapace Kingdom. It’s not too late. Your thumb hovers over the call button, and in a moment of sheer anxiety, you press it.

It rings. Once. Twice. 

_“Ruler of all the little chess dudes an’ also cats speakin’.”_ Your breathe out a laugh, relieved again. It’s just Roxy. 

“Hey, Rox,” you say softly.

 _“Dirk!!”_ Roxy exclaims. You forgot to tell them you changed your number. _“Where have you been??”_

“Oh, you know,” you say, leaning on the table, “Being a horrible little hermit man.”

“ _Damn right_ ,” they say, and you can hear them rolling their eyes. There’s a soft _flump_ on the other end; falling into bed, probably. Kicking back like you haven’t had the chance to do. The anxiety melts out of you. This is Roxy you’re talking to. Your best fucking friend. You don’t know what you were nervous about. “ _N-E-way! What’s been happening? You gotta tell me all about it._ ”

You get them up to speed on the last eleven months or so. On the stupid parties you’ve gone to, on why you had them forge documents for you, on how you’ve been in general. Calliope wanders through the background, you can hear her ask Roxy something, before wandering away, humming to herself. You don’t bring up the gender stuff yet. You don’t bring up the soul stuff, either.

“Me and Jake got back together,” you eventually say, and they make the equivalent of a “!!!” noise.

_“You what!! OMG, tell me. Tell me tell me.”_

“We ran into each other at a party. And I took him home.” They hum in a way that suggests you got action. “Nothing happened. He was pretty stressed. Staying with me for a while.” They don’t ask anything else about Jake, luckily. They tell you about the chess dudes, and about Callie, and about the cats, about Rose and Dave and John, anything they can think of. You talk for almost two hours, and your heart feels lighter when you hang up. The kitchen feels less desolate as you turn the lights off and try to make the stairs creak as little as possible on your way up. 

When you enter the room, the Brain Ghost is sitting on the edge of the bed. He regards you with a little salute, and you nod back. Jake is fast asleep. You lay down with him, pulling the covers from where he’s got them all bunched up - he pulls you into his arms, instead, and makes a happy sound into your hair. Out of the corner of your eye, the ghost fades away. You drift off.

And for once? It’s a peaceful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in my personal opinion, "the death of st jimmy" sounds much better in the original broadway cast version of american idiot, but the rest of the song is better on the original american idiot. listen to both! theyre very good. 
> 
> next time will be soft and i wont cry while writing it
> 
> this was originally started as an RP on mxrp, though i had neglected to tell [heroboof](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heroboof) that i was turning it into a fic, which was a dick move. we have worked it out and i've been given the ok to continue. sorry again! i hope you enjoy what will come.


	6. the time has come and it's going nowhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the Soft chapter. featuring breakfast, tenderness, intimacy, and a nice hike in the woods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one took me a little longer to get out bc this whole 'stay inside and dont leave ur house' thing is kicking my ass. thank you again to heroboof for being a fabulous jake. warnings for like. a little bit of ptsd and some ultimate self angst. otherwise, this one's Soft

You wake up with his face smushed into your hair. 

Daylight filters through the curtains; early morning. Birds chirp outside, insects buzz. You used to hate summer. It’s not so bad, now. You snuggle in a little closer to Jake and sigh contentedly. It’s a nice day out. You might be able to go on a hike. Jake stirs slightly, humming quietly.

“Hi,” he says sleepily.

“Hi,” you reply, “How are you feeling?” 

“Very well rested,” he says, nosing at your hair, “You?”

“Slept better than I have in a while.” You could get out of bed and make breakfast or something. But it’s so much nicer, laying around. “Me ‘n Rox had a good talk. It was nice to hear their voice.”

“That’s wonderful.” Jake kisses your forehead. “I’m glad you were able to talk with them. It’s been a while, I imagine.”

“They said John’s been acting weird.” You pause, thinking for a moment. “I mean, we all have.” 

Jake hums. “Do you think he might also be…?”

“Dunno.” You shrug. “They didn’t mention anything about that. Said he hasn’t been talking to a lot of people. Seems like he’s depressed.” Jake starts to smooth down the hair on the back of your head.

“Maybe we should offer some support.”

“I think he’s aimless at this point. Everyone seemed to be doing alright, though.”

“Especially now that I’ve moved in with you?”

“Maybe,” you chuckle, “We’re doing better, at least.”

“A bit better than before,” Jake agrees, “I know I’m happy, at least.” That makes you glow inside. Happy. You’re helping. 

“Did you want to go on a walk today?” Out here, you’re relatively deep in the woods. You’re at the base of a mountain, all by your lonesome, your closest neighbor half a mile away, up past where the road stops being paved and turns into gravel. “The trails around here are pretty nice. Not to challenging.”

“You know?” Jake smiles against your temple. “I think I would.” You grin, cuddling a little deeper and not looking to pull away yet. 

“...Maybe later,” you say, muffled against his chest, “What time is it?”

“No idea.” 

“Mhn, yeah, fair.” You nearly start to drift off again, warm and content. It doesn’t totally make sense, but you feel… golden-yellow. Warm but not nearly orange; happy. The word _sunrise_ passes through your mind, and it makes sense. You’re not sure how much time passes, a minute, ten, an hour, you don’t know, before Jake speaks again.

“I’m going to say something very silly right now, so please don’t laugh.” You tilt your head up a little, to indicate that you’re listening. He chooses his words carefully. “I’d like to take a shower with you at some point. I think it might be nice. But I’ll have to be wearing swim trunks.” You tap your fingers lightly against his chest.

“Hope you’ll be able to stand how legendarily infinite my showers turn out to be,” you say, and you feel his chest rumble in a little timid laugh, “And, don’t worry about that. I can wash your hair and everything.”

Jake breathes out a sigh of relief. “I’d like that.” You tilt your head up further, kissing his jaw affectionately.

“I’d like that too,” you say, “Be able to be all close with you.”

“Even if I can’t stand to be nude?”

“I want you to be comfortable.” _It’s not about me._ “You didn’t deserve any of that.” He takes a shaky breath, pulling you in a little closer. “I mean it.”

“It’s hard to believe sometimes,” he says softly.

“I know,” you say. You know this feeling. You’ve felt it. “I… used to think I deserved being alone. Something that was out of my control that I didn’t want. I could have done something but I didn’t know how.” Jake nods. “You didn’t deserve any of that. Is what I’m trying to say.”

“I hate seeing those adverts with what may as well be my bloody nudes on them,” Jake says.

“Could ask Roxy to blur them out. Removing information is part of their gig. They said there were a couple gossip rag articles about us.” Jake tenses; you can still hear the camera shutters clicking. “No photos, though. Everything was super blurry. Only one came out properly.” He wheezes out his next breath, sagging. “I don’t think the photographers connected us to the studio thing, either, but Rox mentioned the explosion.”

“Did you tell them?”

“Said I was in the area when it happened.” You shrug. He nods again. “...I did tell them you were staying with me, though. Is that alright?”

“That’s… fine,” Jake says, half-strangled. It’s very clearly not that fine. “I don’t mind if our friends know. I just…” He trails off, voice muffled into your hair. “...I don’t want to see Jane.” You’re not sure you have words for how your heart shatters every time this happens, how every version of you swells up to meet him and how many don’t know why he’d be afraid of Jane. Their confusion and distress hurts you almost as much as his does.

“I know. Oh, sweetheart, I know.” Jake melts against you, nuzzling your shoulder. You tilt your head and kiss his cheekbone.

“Thank you,” he says, and he’d be shaking if you weren’t holding him so close, “I don’t- I don’t know how I’d explain it to them. If they could take the adverts down…” He shakes his head. “I don’t want to see those damn pictures anymore.”

“I’l let them know.”

“Um. Also,” he starts, and you raise an eyebrow.

“Yeah?”

“Can… can you call me ‘sweetheart’ more?” This was the Jake you missed, the puppy-dog-eyed boy who marveled at how much affection you wanted to give him and how much he could give you back, when you were both dumb, shy teenagers on your baby-deer-legs of relationships and human interaction. “I… I liked it a lot.” You chuckle softly, smiling, squeezing him. 

“Of course I can,” you say, “I gotta tell you. You are one, after all.” You pull away enough to peck a few little kisses over his face, until he giggles and is nearly pushing you away. Your stomach growls. “You want to get breakfast and go for that walk?”

“I’d love that,” Jake says, kissing the corner of your mouth, “I think that would be wonderful.”

“Wonderful.” You catch him in one more little kiss before sliding out of bed. It’s terribly domestic in your opinion, you rolling out of bed in your boxers, Jake putting his glasses on, you brushing hair out of your eyes and realizing you don’t care that it’s messy. The only person who’d see it is Jake. He hops out of bed after you.

“What do you have, breakfast-wise?” he says, following you down the stairs and into the kitchen. The oven clock tells you it’s a quarter past eleven.

You think for a moment, opening the fridge and looking around. “Got pancake mix in the cabinet. Plenty of stuff to mix in.”

“Blueberries?”

“Blueberries, chocolate chips, bananas, the works.” You grab the berries from the fridge, along with the milk and eggs. He’s leaning against one counter, and you shoot him a crooked grin. “Anything you want, sweetheart. If I got it, you can have it.” His little smile makes something lift in your chest again. He’s caught in a sunbeam, the edges of his hair glowing like a halo. Your breath catches.

Jake turns the radio on, and the two of you work almost machine-like as you prepare breakfast. Clockwork, that’s how in sync you are. He passes you the griddle, you spray it down. You get the pancake mix and milk all stirred together, and he pours in the blueberries. He hums and you harmonize. The pancakes sizzle on the griddle. Jane’s dad used to make pancakes for the lot of you after the game, mixing food coloring and making your faces out of the batter. He said he used to do it for Jane when she was little. He had to touch up his artistry, out of practice since Jane wasn’t a child anymore. You smile to yourself. Jake places a large plate next to you, and you throw the first batch of pancakes onto it. The second round goes on the griddle. Jake puts his arms around your waist, chin on your shoulder.

“This is nice.”

“Really nice,” you hum, flipping a few pancakes over.

“I like getting to just…” Jake sighs softly, contentedly. “...be us.” _To just be normal_ , he doesn’t say. He doesn’t need to. You plate the last few pancakes, the mix depleted. Jake lets you go so you can put everything in the sink.

“Alright,” you say, turning back to Jake, hands on your hips, “Breakfast.”

“Breakfast,” he agrees. You grab some plates; he grabs the syrup. You set the table, sit, and dig in. You swing your feet under your chair, savoring the sweet tang of blueberries and the warmth of the morning. It’s calm, quiet. You’re not drowning. It’s more of a dead man’s float, but you are very much alive, and for maybe the first time, you’re loving it. Last night’s events are still on your mind, but they seem distant, unimportant. You’re not familiar with souls splitting and world-ending games; you only know tiled kitchen floors and curtains blowing in the morning breeze. 

You finish up, place your plate in the sink, and sit back down. Jake reaches out and holds your hand.

“There’s a trail around here that passes by a waterfall,” you say, and his eyes light up. He swallows a forkful of pancake quickly and beams.

“Oh! That sounds very nice. I’d like to explore it.”

“Thought you would.” You stand, pushing in your chair. “We can do the dishes later. I’m gonna go change.”

“Be up in a mo’,” Jake chirps, nearly finished. You kiss his temple and head back to your room. You throw on sturdy clothes, jeans, t-shirt, whatever’s good. You’re excited. You didn’t know you’d be looking forward so much to this. In the meantime, though, you do text Roxy. 

timaeusTestified [TT] started pestering tipsyGnostalgic [TG]!  
TT: Hey, question.  
TG: what up  
TT: This is gonna sound weird but hear me out.  
TT: There’s a lot of pictures of Jake around, like, everywhere.  
TG: mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmhm?  
TT: As a leet haxxor, can you take the ones online down?  
TG: ofc  
TT: And maybe remove the ones on billboards with your powers?  
TG: …  
TG: idk if i CAN  
TG: but  
TG: ill try  
TG: bc i lov u <3

You smile at your phone. Jake walks in, grabs a change of clothes, and leaves.

TT: Love you too, Lalonde.  
TT: <3

timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering tipsyGnostalgic [TG]!

You pocket your phone and go downstairs, getting a hiking bag together, essentials, nothing huge. You don’t take your sketchbook with you this time. Out of all the things you do, you’re almost embarrassed to have Jake see you draw. Jake traipses down the stairs a few minutes later, dressed ugly as hell; cargo pants, huge shirts, big clunky boots, the whole nine yards. The outfit’s ugly as hell, and he looks ecstatic. You throw the bag over your shoulder and hold out a hand.

“Shall we?”

“Let’s, darling.” He takes your hand with a fond smile, and maybe you blush, but you’re too busy tugging him out the door and heading off down the path. The forest is alive, and you’re incredibly alive in it. You are well and truly in the middle of nowhere, and you love it. Jake hums to himself, and points out the different bugs and birds he recognizes. You swing your joined hands lightly. Your literal neck of the woods isn’t tropical the way Jake’s island was, but the summer almost makes it similar, warm, bright, shaded by trees, dappled light making mosaics of you. Beside you, Jake is quiet.

“Doin’ okay?” you ask, squeezing his hand. The sound of rushing water gets closer.

“What? Oh, yes.” Jake’s voice is soft, yielding, and he follows your lead without any hesitation. “More than okay, in fact. I feel…” He pauses, fishing for the right words. “Very calm right now? And safe in a way I don’t when there are a lot of people around.” He offers you a small smile. “But it’s just you, right now.” He squeezes your hand back.

A few more turns down the path and you come across the waterfall. It’s some thirty feet tall, shimmering and falling into a crystal clear pool below. The water is still by the edges. Jake gasps in delight. “Oh,” he says, watching how the water shifts, “It’s- it’s lovely…” 

“C’mon. There’s a nice spot to sit over here.” You tug him over to your favorite overhang, just low enough to touch the water. It almost reminds you of getting some sun on the roof of your apartment. You’re never going to get the sheer heat of post-apocalyptic Texas ever again, but you do your best to emulate it where you can. Your house in Can Town was the closest you were going to get, you think.

Socks and sneakers off, jeans rolled up, you sit on the edge of the rock and dip your feet into the cool water, sighing. Jake does the same, settling in beside you. He turns at the same time you turn, and in the noonday sun, he kisses you.

Maybe it’s the sun on your face, maybe it’s the water at your feet, maybe it’s the sound of the waterfall or the feeling of Jake’s arm over your shoulder or your hand holding his face, but it feels different. Better. He hums softly and you hum back, smiling. He leans in further, closer, and you lean back, starting to slip. You catch yourself with your free hand, laughing softly. “Hey, careful there.”

“Oop. Sorry,” Jake says, smile shy and eyes glittering, “You’ve very nice to kiss, is all.” It startles a laugh out of you, and you cover your mouth with your hand, almost embarrassed. No one’s ever said that to you. You clear your throat and ignore the butterflies in your stomach.

“Well, you’re very nice to kiss, too,” you finally manage, and you don’t miss the way he blushes in return. You steal another peck to his lips and he grins. You take the opportunity - him, distracted, kissing you back - to kick some water at his legs, and he jumps back in surprise. You snicker at his shocked, playfully offended expression until it turns mischievous. He splashes you back, and you let yourself laugh a little more openly. It used to be rare, seeing you like this, where you could let yourself go and let yourself be uninhibited by everything you told yourself you had to be. But here you are, smiling, laughing, not hiding behind shades or any other kind of mask you once had. 

You splash at Jake again, but the force nearly knocks you back and makes you slip for real. Jake grabs you around the waist and pulls you back up.

“Hey now. Careful there,” he teases. You laugh and pull him close and kiss him again and again, giggling and nearly giddy.

“I fuckin’ love you,” you say, and he pulls you not quite into his lap, kissing on you the same way.

“I love you, too,” he says, “So, so much, Dirk, like you wouldn’t believe.” You believe it. There’s something holding him back, though - you can feel it in the way his hands stay on your hips but he doesn’t pull you closer than where you are now. You’re sitting on his leg and you’re not bothered by that fact, just a little confused.

“Don’t know how I got so lucky to have you back,” you confess, between sweet little kisses.

“I could say the very same,” he murmurs back, “I didn’t think I could love someone this much.”

“Love you more ‘n you could know, sugar.” You want him to know. You want him to know so badly. You kiss him again and don’t pull away, letting the kisses get more open. He returns them without issue, without hesitation, and you don’t know if that surprises you or not. That he finds it so easy to kiss you back. You sigh into his mouth, but you pull away after a few more moments, panting. His face is flushed and you imagine yours isn’t much better. The walk home isn’t long, but it isn’t particularly short, either. The sun will start going golden by the time you get back. “Should head home, maybe.”

“Maybe,” Jake says. He looks back at the waterfall. It makes you wonder if he had something like that on his island. “But it’s nice here.”

“We can come back soon,” you promise, “Get some good exploring in.”

“I’d love that.” He kisses you, soft and chaste.

“I think I saw some wild berries around here. Bring a container, make jam after.” There are wild strawberries growing on a hill not far from here. You’ll have to bring him there. 

You dry off as much as you need and put your shoes back on, pack up all your things. Jake does the same, and it makes your heart skip a beat when he takes your hand instead of you reaching for his. The day around you is warm. The waterfall gets quieter behind you as you wind back through the woods. The light starts to filter gold through the trees. 

“Think I could probably use that shower you mentioned,” you say, about halfway home, and you try to keep it casual, try to hide your nervesexcitementanxiety at the prospect of being intimate, “Think I’m startin’ to get greasy.” He chuckles and squeezes your hand.

“I’d like that too,” he says, and your heart beats faster at his smile. You’re so hopeless for him. It’s a good thing he’s practically made of Hope, you suppose.

* * *

You don’t look at your reflection as you strip down, the shower already running. It’s not that you’re uncomfortable in your body, not anymore, but every so often, you see someone else. Someone too tall, too metallic, too muscular. Someone who could be you, but veritably isn’t. You’re not tall and you’re not all too built and you’re certainly not made of metal, and you like it that way. You’d rather not have an existential crisis again. The shower curtain is tiled bright purple. You focus on that, instead. Your clothes sit in a pile by the sink.

As you step into the shower, you feel the dirt and grime and sweat of the day start to wash away, and you relax. It’s not as hot as you’d like it, but you’d rather Jake be comfortable than scalded the way you prefer. You let the water run through your hair, and close your eyes.

A knock at the door.

“Dirk?”

“It’s open!” you call, doing a little mental math. The two of you should be able to fit in here just fine. The door opens and closes, and something plastic-sounding clicks onto the counter. You poke your head out from behind the curtain; Jake shifts foot to foot, glasses off, wearing a pair of black swim trunks. He meets your eyes and you smile in a way you think is reassuring. “Hey there.” He smiles back, less confident.

“Hey,” he says softly. You imagine your hair is already plastered to your forehead, and that you look a little ridiculous. Not that he cares. He glances at the pile of clothes, and back to you, and still gets into the shower. You shuffle back, making room, but the tension doesn’t melt from his shoulders under the spray the way yours did.

“You still okay with this?” you say, suddenly feeling underdressed.

“I…” Jake takes a deep breath. “Yes. Yes. If it’s you.”

“You’ll tell me if it’s not,” you remind him, and he nods.

“I will.” His voice is a little firmer. Good. 

You reach past him to grab your shampoo bottle, and he starts to lean into the motion, before pausing. He blushes. You chuckle and he manages a shy smile back. It’s cute. You offer him a grin and lean up to kiss his cheek, and he makes a happy noise. 

“You want me to wash your hair?” You shake the bottle in your hand. He seems to consider it. Your hands in his hair, washing him off. It’s just his hair. You won’t expect anything else, and he knows that.

“...I do,” he says finally, “Yes, I want that.”

“Lean forward for me?” You squirt some shampoo into your hand and set the bottle aside; Jake tilts his head towards you. You start to work it into his hair and he starts to relax. You can’t remember if you ever did this during the game. You didn’t want him to look at you, sometimes. It was different, then. You had different reasons. You get behind his ears, soap in a lather, humming and getting suds in your mouth when you kiss his forehead. He laughs, content and warm. “There we go.”

“You’re too good to me,” he says fondly. That gaze is going to kill you.

“I could say the same about you, sweetheart. We’ll be stuck in a loop of being too good for one another. And that would just be a mess.” You wash your own hair as he rinses off. You won’t take as long as you usually do with your hair.

“A terribly nice mess, I’m sure,” Jake says as you rinse and condition and rinse your hair again. You hold him once he’s in reach, your hands at the center of his back. He holds you back, and your arms relax, hand brushing his lower back. He jolts, and you bring your hands up where it’s safer.

“Sorry,” you say quietly, “Is this okay?”

“It is,” he says, but it isn’t. You should know better. “I just… don’t like to be touched down there. Not- not anymore.” You understand. “I know I was all for it back during the game, but now…” But now you’re not horny, touch-starved teenagers. But now you’re adults and immortal and fucked up and having your midlife crisis at twenty-one. “...Things are different.” You hum, and trace shapes into the nape of his neck with a finger.

“They are,” you say, “We aren’t dumb kids anymore.” You remember the red stone structures around LOMAX, the city-tombs on LOTAK. “Always making out when there’re skeletons loose.” He relaxes, breathing a soft laugh out. “I’ll admit,” you say, “That wasn’t my best idea.”

“Oh, but it was exciting,” Jake says.

“The element of danger?”

“Not really. At least, not _danger._ Not while you were there.” He kisses your temple. “Moreso the sensation that nothing could ever go wrong, as long as you were there. I felt invincible.” You rest your forehead on his shoulder and hide your grin against his neck.

“That’s sweet,” you say. You punched him the first time you met in person. Shoved Jane away and covered your ears at Roxy’s squeal of delight. But then you apologized and started to hang out with Jake, go adventuring with Jake, get used to speaking and being spoken to and touching and being touched by Jake. The two of you watched _Titanic_ together, and he cried. He pulled you close and you offered him a tissue. You felt like you were flying. “...I did, too.”

Jake makes an inquisitive noise, petting down your spine. “You did?”

“I was with you,” you say, “The guy who did jungle adventures. Fastest gun in the game.”

“The guy who cowered away in the remnants of his house until some kind fellow sent him a robot to help him out, you mean.”

“ _And_ the one who tried to acclimate me to being around people,” you say.

“ _Acclimate,_ ” he scoffs, “What a crock. I wanted to squirrel you away and keep you, truth be told.” You laugh, despite yourself.

“Keep me all for yourself?”

“Perhaps,” he says, a note of mischief in his voice, “Although I know it wouldn't have been very fair. I was just so shocked and delighted to finally have you there. Felt like I’d been chasing after you forever.” 

“And there I was thinkin’ you’d been runnin’ away from me.”

“I think we might have been going in circles, really.” His hand stills. “...I’m sorry about the whole trickster mess, too. It was my fault.” You feel your muscles lock up, and he must feel it too, because he pulls you tighter. You force yourself to relax, to push the taste of sugar out of your nose.

“It wasn’t,” you hear yourself say, “It was- if anyone, it was Caliborn. And- and Callie, I suppose.” She was the one who brought the trickster lollipop to Rose and Kanaya’s wedding. You hid in a closet and fought off a panic attack as your clothes turned technicolor. “But I can’t blame Callie. It’s…” You shake your head. “It’s complicated. It wasn’t your fault. Or the others’.”

“No, I mean--” You don’t want him to blame himself, he shouldn’t blame himself it’s not about you. “It _is_ my fault that they went after you.” You take a deep breath, holding him tightly. His turn to be protective. You feel _extremely_ underdressed. “I’m sorry. It was all that talk about marriage and I just- I couldn't _not_ go find you. I’m sorry.” Another thing to catch you off guard; another laugh startled out of you.

“Marriage,” you repeat. You weren’t giving him space, he had been avoiding you, and you had been the first thing on his mind when he thought of marriage. “And then we stopped.” He mhms against your hair. “But that was a long time ago.”

“It was.”

“We were such disasters. And we’re disasters now. And that’s--” _It’s alright to not have all the answers,_ ~~you remember~~ ~~Dave~~ a phantom voice whispers to you. “That’s fine.”

“And even if it’s not, we can get through it.” He believes in you so wholeheartedly.

The water starts to get a little cooler. You press a soft kiss to his cheek, and pull away; he’s smiling at you, comfortable, soft. Not his brilliant flashbulb grin, but something softer. Fairy lights, you think. He gives you room to wash up and rinse, and he kisses you sweetly as you step out to give him privacy. 

As you dry off, you say, “I got some work I’m gonna be doin’ later. Robot stuff. Kind of a blanket statement, really, if you’re hearin’ metal clanging it sin’t anything too bad. Just knock.” Jake hums in response; you collect up your things and then you’re off, closing the door behind you with a soft click. 

* * *

You tend to lose time when you work. You throw on some music and get sucked in, the rhythm coming to you easily. It’s funny, almost, how your workflow now is so similar to the one you had before the game. You’re not running out of parts and waiting for the next drone attack to get more. You grab a sheet of bent metal and start hammering it into shape. Distantly, you hear the shower turn off. You’ve lost more of your background noise and that’s a shame, but you’ll live. You crank your music a notch or two higher. You had a house guest, didn’t you? The one that just got out of the shower? He’ll join eventually, you’re sure. When did the shower turn off? Like, a minute ago, right?

The clock on the wall informs you it’s been nearly twenty minutes. 

You’re considering the weirdness of all this when there is a knock at the door. 

“Dirk?”

“Hm?” You look up, and Jake, now dressed, hair almost dry, enters the workroom. Oh. Right. He’s here. “Hey,” you smile, lowering the music, “I was startin’ to wonder where you’d gone off to.” He’s stock-stiff and looks nervous. Your smile falters, and he takes a deep breath.

“Can--” He fidgets, not quite looking at you. You put your hammer down. “May I hug you?”

“Of- of course,” you say, taking a half step towards him, “Are you--” You’re cut off as Jake strides over to you and holds you tight like he’s not sure you’re even real. He takes a few more deep breaths, shaky, and you hug him back, counting the knobs in his spine.

“I half wish you hadn’t told me about this Ultimate Self business,” he says, “Now I’m _aware_ of it.”

“Being aware’s the first step to solving a problem, isn’t it?” He shrugs. “...What happened?”

“I almost walked out.” Your heart sinks, and you pull away to look at him. He won’t meet your eyes, wringing his hands up near his chest. “It- it wasn’t _me_ doing it, and it was all- all at once.” He gestures slightly with his hands, small, jittery movements, before he goes back to fidgeting. “It was an… _old_ feeling.”

“Old?” 

“Old like older than my body. Like it was my feeling and my body and therefore my age, but it wasn’t _me_.” He pushes his glasses up and rubs at his eyes, and finally looks at you. His eyes are the right color. Good. “This- this feeling like, _oh, well, this has been fun, but now it’s over and it’s time to mosey on off_.” You frown and sit against your worktable, listening to him. “I was- I was nearly halfway to the door when I realized--” His voice breaks, halfway between a laugh and a choked sob. “-- I was only wearing the towel.” You place a hand on his shoulder; he’s trembling, still. “So I came up here, got dressed, and c-came to visit you. Even though everything was telling me to just--” He sighs, shaking his head. “To just run off before everything got too complicated. Leave you to your life, and I’d go back to mine.” 

“It… kind of makes sense,” you say slowly, “I’ve heard Jade’s grandfather was similar. That he didn’t stick around too often.”

“The, erm, the sound of you working is part of what brought me back to myself, actually,” he chuckles awkwardly, “I find the sound quite comforting. Reminded me of where I was.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You find metal clanging comforting?”

“Well, yes!” He relaxes somewhat, and you take that as a sign to go back to your sketches. “That always meant either you or the Brobot was bustling around. Or that Gran was reorganizing her firearms.” He whistles lowly. “Land’s sakes, that woman had a lot of guns.” You chuckle, erasing a line. You’re still not sure where the design is coming from. “And, I mean, sure, if the Brobot was puttering about it usually meant I was about to get my ass handed to me on a siver platter.” You glance up, doubt crossing your face; he gives you a small _don’t worry_ wave. “But besides when I was hunting it down for uranium before the game, a tussle with the thing was always _fun._ Plus, it meant I didn’t have to worry about the monsters! A win-win, really.”

“He never interrupted you while you were resting, right?” you say, “That was always something I was worried about - how often he’d attack. The first-aid protocol was in place for a reason, but--”

“No, no, never when I was resting,” Jake interrupts, “Only ever when I was outside and moving around.”

“Okay. Okay, that’s- that’s a relief.” You let yourself relax a fraction of an inch. “You complained so much and I got so worried that--”

“The _worst_ it ever was was annoying,” he says pointedly; you give in, “It never dished out more than I could take, even when I set it to expert mode. And it handed my ass to me! That’s for damn sure.” He laughs, nostalgic, and that helps. “It never hurt me beyond what a good night of rest and some robotic first-aid could fix.”

_It has taken a lot of calibration, but one of the Tinkerbulls has finally approached you, nudging against your hand. You extend two fingers and it sniffs at them, before rubbing its head against them. You pet it carefully, gently, sure to not put too much pressure or force. It’s so small, its whole body maybe the size of your head. They always have trouble flying, nose rings and horns too heavy to keep its little body from pitching forward. You sit in the greenery and pet this Tinkerbull, and you think you might be happy. You can’t smile, but you’ve got the feeling of one somewhere; a memory, you think. A shot echoes in the distance, followed by hollering. Jake’s awake. You’d sigh if you could. You stand, and the Tinkerbull nuzzles your leg before flying off. 01001000 01100101 01110010 01100101 00100000 01110111 01100101 00100000 01100111 01101111 00100000 01100001 01100111 01100001 01101001 01101110 00101110_

“That’s good,” you hum, “He always wo- _I_ always worried he was going too hard on you.”

Jake gives you a curious look, then smiles fondly, leaning in to tap your temple gently. “Is he in there too?”

You close your eyes and pretend like you were able to smell the jungle. “The island was beautiful.”

“It was.” When you look again, Jake is still giving you that soft, fond look.

“Brobot was fond of the little bull fairies.” You shake off the tenderness; you can only handle so much at once. 

“So was I!” 

“He’d send me pictures of the different beasts, sometimes.” You let the memories float to the surface, picking up a pencil and doodling what you remember. “The biclops, mostly. He could only send messages in binary, and almost all of them said, _Dirk, what the fuck is that thing_.”

Jake laughs, delighted. You love his laugh, so much. “Now that we know so much about trolls and the like, I’m relatively sure the monsters on my island were actually _lusus naturae_ , the things that raised the trolls!” He runs a hand through his hair, chuckling. “No wonder they were so frustrated. Poor things were looking for grubs to raise, and all they had was me.”

“All they had was some weird, red-blooded thing with a gun,” you snort, drawing shades onto the doodled biclops, “And his robot companion.”

“And such a dear robot companion it was,” Jake sighs, batting his eye lashes at you. 

“He had a crush on you.” He blinks, confused. “The Brobot. It wasn’t _my_ crush, though. It was all his.” Jake’s eyes shine, almost welling with tears. 

“Oh, that’s…” He sniffles, smiling. “That’s so _sweet_.”

“I found - god, this is gonna sound so silly - I found a log of Hal’s from when we were fourteen. Brobot was asking him for advice.” You shake your head, smiling. In retrospect, it was cute. But you found the log after you and Jake broke up, and it felt so weird. “He wound up leaving a bunch of flowers by the orb.”

“I noticed those!” Jake beams at you. “I thought it was so _odd_ , I never even considered that he might have left them. I put them in a little cup of water.”

“He appreciated that. A lot.” Jake kisses your temple. You love him. You stand and pick your hammer back up. “Gonna get back to work. Feel free to hang out. Might take a few tries to get my attention, but I’ll be here.”

“You won’t mind?”

“I won’t.”

“Excellent. I just…” He gives you such an open, trusting look. “Want to be near you. I feel safer with you here.” You used to be so closed off and awful. But he believes in you. And loves you. And maybe being open around him is okay. You’re learning. You’re learning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> binary says 'Here we go again.' rating's gonna go up soon, idk when, depends on whether or not the robot scene takes up an entire chapter or not, i have no idea. might take a while, no clue. this quarantine shit has been kicking my ass and it kinda depends on what i have to work on and when i have time. seeyall next time. comments and kudos are always appreciated, i live for feedback
> 
> there might be some other god stuff soon, but im honestly not sure. ive had ideas but none of them have been like written down lol. well see!


	7. go-carts and guns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a bit of an intervention, if anything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this chapter features some alternate self stuff (this is doubling as a warning) but i realized partway thru that it kinda read like dissociative identity disorder? which was not what i was going for w the alternate self business. i was thinking of the selves surfacing for dirk more like being charmed in dnd in terms of what happens. that being said: warnings for dirks typical inner monologue, and a little bit of bro, uh, happening?

You go back to your blueprints and sketches, fetching a few pre-made parts, designs you’ve perfected over the years; Jake tells you how the others are doing, another perspective. He’s sitting on the other table in your workshop, occasionally picking up parts and examining them before gingerly putting them back down. 

“Jade hasn’t been doing as well as she could be, I think,” he hums, fiddling with a spare hinge, “I see her at parties a lot. I think we’ve gotten similar reputations.” He says it airily, but you don’t miss the note of hurt in his voice. “She’s still living with Dave and Karkat.” That one pings something in you.

“...Are they doing alright? Dave and Karkat?” you say, hesitant. You let yourself chuckle, awkward. “I both do and don’t want to message him to check in.”

“They’re alright, from what I hear.” Some part of you relaxes. It isn’t your body. “Tiptoeing around feelings, I think.”

Your next breath-laugh is more genuine and you sketch another line. Sounds like you and Jake when you were kids. “They’ll get to it,” you say, “Dave’s still fighting a… lot of internalized shit.” Texas, 2009. You can’t imagine it. 

“I can imagine,” Jake says, leaning back, “Even living on an isolated Pacific island, social expectations started to… weigh.” All he had were movies telling him how to be and what to be and how your life will probably be filled with misery. To be fair, you’re not the happiest, but not because you’re some tragic sexual deviant. “But anyway! You probably heard from Roxy about Callie. Lovely girl. I do love those gardens of hers. As for Rose and Kanaya…” You glance up; he’s frowning. Thinking. “Kanaya’s doing well. She’s running the brooding caverns spectacularly. But…” He sighs, waving a hand. “From what I hear, Rose is…” His frown deepens, and he sighs again. “...She’s hurting a lot.” Your mind goes in a million different, equally horrible directions, and all of them lead back to your current situation. Jake’s situation. 

“I should talk to her.” You feel something weird. About all this. Maybe it’s the part of you that was Rose once, twice, infinite lifetimes over, maybe it’s the part of you that considers Rose to be a daughter figure. You don’t want to think about that part of you. You’re terrible with kids. “She might-- you know. She’s probably aware of it.”

Jake taps his chin. “I think so. We might be able to help her.”

“For a fuckin’ support group,” you snort, but think about it again, “Creators’ Luncheon is in a few months. Could talk then.” _And hopefully it won’t be too late._

“Sounds like a plan.” Jake shifts, elbows on his knees, chin in hands. “I… ought to spend some time with the Lalondes. Clean up my act, some.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Well, haha.” He says it out loud. _Haha._ “You heard what Janesy said. How I’ve been coping with everything by drinking. A lot.” He rubs the back of his neck, not looking at you. “And I’d rather not do that.”

You nod slowly, cleaning up a sketch with your eraser. “Maybe talking to them could be useful, then.” Jake mhms off to the side. “From what I’ve heard about Rose… It seemed similar to Roxy’s problem.” You shrug. “Again first step.” Jake breathes out some kind of agreement. You look up at him. “If it’s any help, there’s no booze in the house at all.”

“I think that may actually help quite a bit,” Jake says, confesses, sighs, “Nasty stuff, really. I don’t know why I even started.” He pushes off the table, walking up behind you. A hand settles on your shoulder, and you lean back. “What’s this for?”

“I…” You sigh, frowning. “...don’t know.” Jake leans in a little closer, peering at the schematics. “It’s… like a compulsion. I don’t know where the design is coming from.” You know. You don’t want to know, but you know. Instead, you lie, “I think I’m just bored from a lack of fightbots.” Jake hums like he doesn’t believe you, and if he doesn’t believe it, it certainly won’t be true.

“May I see them?” 

You scoot out of the way, and he takes a look at the blueprints. The bot you’ve been drawing is distinctly humanoid, like the Brobot was but sleeker, more refined. It’s not just a tin can, it’s overlapping pieces of metal like plating around a carapacian’s thorax. The legs are defined like a human’s, the arms thin but with false musculature. Almost dainty. Like Brobot, it has metal hair, too, cut into a bob with bangs framing its face. It’s distinctly feminine, and if you squint, it’s distinctly _Rose_. 

The urge to defend yourself rises up hot in your throat; you didn’t want this, you didn’t do this on purpose, you barely know who did. 

“I don’t know where it’s coming from. It’s starting to freak me out. A lot.”

“I can see why,” Jake says quietly, flipping through a few more sketches. Some are of improved arm joints. Some are of dresses that look eerily similar to Rose’s god tier. “Say, I have a thought. A bit chaotic, but hear me out.” Good. Good, please, let him have a thought that isn’t the ones you’re having. “What if we repurpose the design? I mean, obviously you haven’t built it yet, so there’s room for making it masculine and putting the Auto Responder into it. Give the poor thing some free reign. Maybe give you a break.” Hal. You can use it for Hal. That… could work. Jake hums again, a little caught up in those thoughts. “Well, _thing_ is a bit mean, isn’t it. Fellow? Chap? Be more respectful to him to do that, I was truly _awful_ to him when we were young and--”

“I’ve talked to him about it before,” you interrupt, before he gets carried away, “We’ve considered it, since he stopped, y’know, threatening to kill me every ten seconds. He never meant it, though.” You look back down at the sketches, picturing some alterations. “This… this could work. Not what I had originally planned, but it could work.”

“Don’t take too much offense with this, love, but I don’t think what you originally planned is something that should happen.” You don’t take any offense to this. It’s not even offensive. He places a hand on your shoulder. “If it _was_ you who originally planned it. _This_ you, I mean.”

“It really shouldn’t happen.” You take a breath, rubbing your eyes. “I- I don’t think I was the one drawing these.” He rubs your shoulder, humming.

“Let me take over, then?” You raise an eyebrow, humming curiously. “I can draw the schematics. Or, fix them, at least.” You blink a few times, and he looks like he’s about to backtrack, expression turning sheepish as he glances away, a blush rising on his cheeks. “Unless you’d rather--”

“Go right ahead,” you say, offering him your pencil.

“Oh,” he says, blinking owlishly at you before he seems to get it, “Oh!” He takes the pencil, smiling, and you scoot out of the way as he looks over the sketches. You take a seat on the other table, the way he sat earlier.

Jake is a hurricane as he works. He never stops moving, thinking with his hands, gesturing to himself, drawing a line and then carefully erasing it. You watch him, watching him think, watching him work. He’s handsome when he thinks. You can’t help but see all the people he’s been as he goes: the ecstatic kid eager to help you build; the teenager faced with life or death and winning, against all odds; the young adult confident and running a tech empire; the kidteenyoungadult scared of his own shadow; the adventurer, the collector, the lonely old man. He’s nearly glowing, and you don’t know if it’s literal or just the light. You think you catch a glimpse of the Brain Ghost here and there, a pale hand adjusting his, a flash of shades over his shoulder. You’re leaning against the wall, still entranced, when Jake straightens up, clearing his throat.

“Dirk? Love? Will you come look this over?”

You hop down, leaning over to look at the sketches. They’re… not what you had expected. The technique is unpracticed, but the result isn’t bad because of it. There are a couple sketches off to the side of different eye shapes, and some of them are weirdly familiar in a way you can’t exactly place. Too big, too round. The final idea, though, is one you can get behind. The figure is humanoid, hair metal and spiked, face proportionate and similar to yours. You didn’t know Jake drew. It’s very well done. You snap a quick picture, sending it off to Hal.

timaeusTestified [TT] started pestering technopathicGenius [TG]!

TT: Hey. Got a body schematic I want you to look over.  
TG: You’re shitting me.  
TG: You have got to be shitting me. There is a 90.4351426% change you are shitting me.  
TT: Oh my god. Shut up with the number schtick.

“That looks great,” you say, and Jake rocks back on his heels, beaming, “I’ll have to see what Hal says, though. And I want to do the hair differently, something synthetic instead of straight up metal.” He hums, considering.

“Oh, certainly, that would be a good idea. He’d be able to style it however he wanted, not get stuck with being a fancier Brobot, wouldn’t that just be a nightmare? If we want to go lifelike, Brobot’s original look wouldn’t work. No facial movements. Perhaps grips for a wig? He could pick whatever style he wanted day to day, keep it interesting. Now _that_ , that’d be incredibly convenient…” Your phone chimes and Jake stops his little brainstorm. “Was that him?”

timaeusTestified [TT] sent a file! [img_07095006_01.jpg]  
TG: Oh, shit, you’re serious.  
TT: Of course I’m serious.  
TT: Think you’ll be nice to Jake now?  
TG: I’ll consider it.  
TG: Make the torso thinner. And make the whole thing taller, I want to be taller than you.  
TG: I was stuck at your manlet level height for too damn long, Dirk.  
TT: Ouch. What happened to our burgeoning friendship.  
TT: I thought you liked me.  
TG: Eh. So-so.  
TT: I’m flattered.  
TG: Don’t be. Anyway. Tell Jake. I’ll be here.

technopathicGenius[TG] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT]!

“Pass me the pencil?” you say, and Jake does so immediately. You fix up some of the specifics the way Hal requested. “He’s become pretty agreeable, y’know.”

“Oh, I’ve noticed!” Jake rests against the table right beside you, looking down at the changes. You throw a couple measurements in where he didn’t put them, the image starting to take form in your mind. Yeah, yeah, this looks good. This’ll be good. “Perhaps a side effect of getting older. And having a body and more independence would help.” He blows some hair out of his eyes and shakes his head. “I was such an ass to him when we were kids. I shouldn’t have been, but it was just so frustrating to talk to him when I’d rather have talked to you.”

“I would have rather been able to talk to you, too.” You lean back, snapping another photo to send to Hal. He sends a series of emojis back. Excited. Fantastic. “I think it was the frustration of suddenly being considered a lesser Dirk and suddenly being trapped in a pair of shades that made him become such a jackass. But we’ve talked it out.”

“Perhaps I should talk to him some more. Get some closure on all that awful business I put him through. Relatively sure he didn’t block me.” You snort, ending the conversation with Hal, leaning in and looking at the blueprints again.

“The arms shouldn’t have to change much from my usual design. The casing, however, probably something different. Some of them--” You gesture vaguely at your head. “--had other ideas for how the casing should look. Not good ideas.”

“Seems relatively basic, you know? The kind of thing some sort of amateur might make,” he says, teasing, but gets that handsome, thinking look again, “I have really been stunned at some of the things we’ve managed in the soft tissue robotics field these days. Fascinating stuff.” You wander off, going through some of the failed casings the other Dirks have tried to make. Genuinely amateur stuff. You did this shit when you were thirteen. Couldn’t have been you doing this shit now. Eh. You can melt ‘em down in the backyard like you’ve done with the other scrap metal. 

“Last convention I went to, I found a lot of new applications of soft tissue stuff. Some of it was stuff I’d developed but with other uses.” You put aside another failed casing, shrugging. “Under a fake name, of course.”

“Oh, naturally,” Jake says, comping up beside you and fiddling with some of the loose tools you haven’t put away. “Might be a nice idea. Disguises and fake names. Getting out of the spotlight.”

“Used a fake name when I was tryin’ college out.” Fake transcript, fake guardian names, fake extracurriculars. You had the brains for it. Just not the social skills. “And for this house. Technically, it’s being rented by some kid named Dirk Walker.” Jake chuckles. At least someone can appreciate your pun.

“How did the college thing go?” 

You grimace. You loved it. Six months of calculus and learning Ancient Carapacian and the very beginning of a pottery class. People thought you were homeschooled, that’s why you weren’t so good with cues. But they thought you were cool and funny, and that you weren’t some piece of shit loser living alone off campus. Your new friends got you a little cake for your birthday as the term started to wrap up. You started the second term confident for what would come next. And then you got a call from Dave right after class a month after it started, and someone overheard him saying something about Striders and how time is kind of his thing, that’s how his timing was so good, he’s kind of the god of sick beats and keeping time, maybe if you stopped being the god of being an emo bastard avoiding everyone you’d have expected this call in the first place.

You went to a relatively small university. Word spread quickly. It didn’t reach everyone, but it got around. You dropped out a week later. Cut off contact with that boy from your philosophy class. Vanished without a trace. 

“It was- fine,” you eventually say, trying to act more casual about it than you actually are. Jake makes a sad little noise behind you. It’s your posture. “No one figured anything out from my name. I wore glasses and blue contacts. Superman syndrome up in here.”

“I always did want to go. But the logistics are so terribly confusing, getting a GED and everything, and the whole… getting recognized thing. Likely’d be a mess.” He sighs, and you get up, starting to put away the loose tools. “Is it so wrong to want to go somewhere where no one would know me? Start over completely fresh.” You blush, when he adds, “Of course, it would be with you.”

“Go back to the Consort Kingdom, maybe. They’re not too nosy. We can just be us there. Go back to that place we had.”

“Oh, I miss that place,” Jake says wistfully, helping you put some things away, “I miss the seals, remember that? Those seals that would come up to the rocks in the morning.” You remember muggy early mornings, the sound of the sea against the rocks, the way the waves shone and glinted in the afternoon light and almost reminded you of home. You remember sleet-grey seals hopping onto the rocks around sunrise, and diving back under once the light got too bright. You could probably make a simulation of your old home there, if you went back. Set up a little platform in the ocean and let it rock you to sleep. “Build upwards, maybe,” Jake continues, “Make it into a right tower.”

“Need a transportalizer to get to the top,” you snort, and he laughs in delight.

“Exactly! It’ll be perfectly defensible.” He claps his hands together, sighing. “You and I could be a happy pair of hermits.”

“Just you, me, and the odd consort wandering through the jungle.” You shut a drawer, considering that platform idea again. “It was pretty warm there. Almost felt like home.”

“It was home.” Jake goes back over to the schematics. He takes a slow, deep breath, his hands smoothing over the paper. “...We could leave Hal this place once he’s done. Just… go. He could handle everything for us.”

“Might take some time to build the body. And calibrate the limbs.” You join him, looking down at the drawings. “Brobot took a while, getting all the parts right and everything. But that was--” God, how old were you? “Fuck, eight years ago.”

“Criminy, has it really been that long?” Jake whistles low, chuckling.

“We were thirteen. Eight fuckin’ years.” You had to wait for the Condesce’s drones to get fucked up enough to collect the scrap parts, and eventually you were able to patchwork that sonofabitch together. Took forever. “A lot’s happened since, I s’pose.”

“And somehow we’re all still friends.” Yeah, that is part of what astounds you. That they’ve put up with you so long. Jake seems a little unsure of his own statement, though. “You and I and Roxy, at least.” He chuckles awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sort of.”

“Jane and I stayed in contact,” you say absently, and he tenses. Again. Fuck. You need to get better at this shit. “I should call her. See if I can get her to listen, or something.”

“...Maybe.” Jake fidgets.

You sigh, taking one of his hands and squeezing it. “You don’t have to be there, sweetheart. Don’t have to talk to her.” _Don’t have to do anything you don’t want to_.

He squeezes your hand back. “I’d really, _really_ rather not.”

“You know I wouldn't make you. But it might help to clear some things up.” You trace the leg of the schematic with your free hand.

“Right, right…” Jake sighs, “I just… might not want to be in the same room while all of that is going on.”

“C’mere,” you say by way of response, tugging his hand. You pull him in for a side-hug, and he accepts it readily. “I’ve got you.” His arms are a comforting weight around you. He could lift you over his head if he wanted. “Excellent work, by the way,” you say, and he perks up. You nod towards the papers on the desk. “Never knew you could draw so well.”

“Neither did I!” he says, and you chuckle. The face sketched in is very similar to yours; it could be your twin. “I admit, I did take a few peeks at you when I could. Make sure I got everything right. I think it’s a faithful production of the handsome devil before me.” He’s very much looking at you. Your face heats up at the eye contact, definitely at the eye contact, and you glance away.

“Gettin’ me flustered, English.”

“Is that a bad thing?” When did his voice get soft? Was your soft?

“Nah, ‘course not,” you scoff, and you wave away the tension to smile softly up at him, “It’s fine. It’s cute.”

“Cute! Really?”

“You’re cute, yeah.” It’s his turn to blush. Score. “The bot’s alright too.” His little gigglesnort is so worth it. You pull away, smoothing out a corner of the papers. “Couple of these are lookin’ like Jade. Her glasses, here.” You point at a few of the rounder-eyed doodles.

“Hm, yes, they. They do.” He leans in, almost troubled. “Almost exactly, actually.”

“I’ve worked with her on a few things before. She mentioned the dreambot her grandpa made.”

“...That might be it.” You each have a hand on the table. You hook your pinkie finger with his. 

“It’s sweet.” Your finger curls around his. It’s a promise. “You’re still in control. You’re okay.” 

Jake lets out a slow, nervous breath you didn’t know he was holding. “Right.” He tries to get his voice under control. He’s in control. “I’m just. A bit worried this impulse to run is his, too.” 

You don’t point out how he ran when you were kids. “He stuck around with Jade.”

“He had to. He knew she was going to play the game.”

“He loved her. He wasn’t going to run from that.”

“I’m not going to run from this.” _From you_. “I don’t think he would have, either. Even from his you, cockweasel though his you was.” 

That gets a little laugh out of you. “I’ve seen a couple timelines where they met. Got along pretty decently. I was diggin’ the silver fox look. Maybe not the mustache, though.”

“I can only hope this me ages that gracefully.” He rubs his chin. “I had been considering a bit of a beard.”

“I can see it. Handsome.” If you could beat yourself over the head, you would. You keep slipping up. You’re an idiot. “...Tell me if that’s too far.”

“No, no,” Jake says, nudging your shoulder, “Handsome doesn’t make my skin crawl like _sexy_ does. Not from you.”

“Then you would look handsome. Refined. Lose that baby face, even if I love it.” You give him a teasing nudge back. He giggles. 

The two of you start to discuss options on the actual materials for the body. Mimicking human tendons, fiber optics, muscle mass versus skeleton weight. How to get Hal out of the uncanny valley and more like a real person. It took you so long to figure out the finger movements in the Brobot. Should be a piece of cake now. He knows more than you thought he did, maybe he’s been talking to Jade? His handle on the actual mechanics of it all is more than you expected. Your head starts hurting at some point, vision blurring. You’re probably just dehydrated. You rub your eyes, scratching down a few notes about intuitive code. Jake makes a curious noise, and you ignore him. 

“There’s a tech con comin’ up,” you say, scratching the date into the side of the page. Jake hums. It’s fuckin’ bright in here. “S’in the Troll Capital. Yellowbloods, mostly.”

“You could swing by undercover?” You’d roll your eyes, but he’d be able to see it. Of course you’d be undercover.

“Always have,” you scoff, “Ain’t too hard.” You feel… short. Your eyes have always been sensitive, but now they’re extra bad. You rub your eyes again, squinting. “You seen my shades around? Don’t know I don’t got ‘em on me.”

Jake doesn’t seem to hear you, lost in his own lackluster thoughts. Self-obsessed fuckin’ himbo. You set your shoulders and pretend like his voice doesn’t grate as he says, “I wish I could go along, but I’m just a bit too…” He does that fuckin’ nervous chuckle like he’s self concious. “Well, you know, recognizable.”

“Too many people recognizin’ your ass, prob’ly.” You actually do roll your eyes this time, scrawling down a few more notes. That shuts him up. About damn time. Your head hurts. You straighten up. Blink a few times. Your head clears. Jake is beside you, frozen, deer in headlights. You’re still in the workshop. You look back at the notes, and don’t recognize the handwriting. Tall letters, all uppercase, the lowercase ones just slightly smaller. Distantly, your pencil falls to the floor. “Fuck.”

“...”

“I- I’m sorry.” Shame crashes over you like you wish those fucking waves had when you were over the fucking ocean. “I- I don’t know what came over me.” Jake is still quiet. You don’t miss the glimmer of fog surrounding his body. He smiles.

“Oh, don’t worry. It’s--” He glances around. Swallows. “I’m quite alright. I’m fine.”

You had been making so much progress. You’d been doing so well, you haven’t slipped like that in forever, you had it under _control_. 

“No, that wasn’t--” You clutch at your hair, pulling until the pain grounds you. It isn’t helping. “That was bad. I don’t- that wasn’t--” You had it under control. You were in control. You lost that fucking control, you thought you had it _under--_

“...Right,” Jake says, measured, “I think maybe we ought to keep an eye on that one.” You wheeze out a pathetic laugh, sitting down and trying to get your hands to stop fucking shaking. 

“Y-yeah.” He should leave. He should leave! It’ll be safer if he leaves. “I’m. I’m so sorry.” Jake shuffles closer to you. You scoot away. He gets closer, and there’s no more room for you to move. 

“I know it’s not you who meant it,” he says. You shrink.

“We were the same person. You- you shouldn’t have to deal with this.”

“Dirk.” 

“That’s me.” Maybe you do need a fightbot. Something to kick the shit out of you. 

“I mean, it is. It is you.” That one hurts more than you expected. It’s easier when you’re the only one saying it. He drops to one knee in front of you, and places a hand on your leg. Your face burns. “It’s a you who could be, and who, under very different circumstances, was. But you’re not him now.” He squeezes your leg. “I get the feeling he really didn’t regret saying that at all!” He didn’t. He really, really didn’t. There’s a lot more that he wanted to say. “And you do.” You do. You do. 

“I don’t want to become him.” You hate how your voice shakes. _He_ hates how your voice shakes. “I hate this. I hate being like this.” 

“You’re not destined to become him. You’re not doomed.” Jake believes it. He believes in you so confidently. So it must be true. It will be true. “May I kiss you?”

You finally glance up to meet his eyes, startled. “I don’t know why you’d want to.”

“Because I love you,” he says, and he says it so simply that it must be, “ _You,_ not whatever phantasmagorical maybe-future-you bouncing around in that skull of yours.” He stills your wringing hands. “I want _my_ Dirk. Like I always have.” 

Just because it’s simple doesn’t mean it’s easy.

You take a deep breath. “Thank you.” Rest your forehead against his. “I love you, too.” He kisses you, soft, sweet, and stands. You follow. He kisses you again, just as sweetly, before pulling you into his arms and just holding you. He draws you in close and holds you there, hand on the back of your head, your arms around his waist. You breathe. He breathes with you. Outside, twilight. White-yellows fading into deep purple-blues. The first few stars. It’s… peaceful. Even if you are the worst person to have lived, across so many lives and so many timelines, it might not actually be so bad. You might not actually be so bad. Jake holds you a little closer for the moment, but loosens up. You may not actually be that bad. Jake certainly thinks you aren’t. The alternate selves, all the other Dirks, always screaming, glaring, trying to take hold, are quiet. Resting. Maybe it’s the peace of the moment. Maybe it’s Jake’s influence. You’re relaxed.

Jake pulls back, giving you another gentle smile. He tilts your chin up and kisses you. Sweet. 

“I love you,” you murmur.

“And I always will,” he says back.

“And I always have.” Another kiss, short, slow. You cup his jaw, nudging your nose against his. “You’re the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.” You kiss his cheek, “So good to me. So much smarter than you think.” He turns his face into your hand, his face flushed, but you can feel his smile against your palm.

“ _Di_ -irk…” He chuckles, embarrassed, your name coming out in two syllables. “You’re flattering me.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Testing the waters. 

“I mean, no?” He sounds unsure. “It’s just not really true.” You frown, confused, and move your hand to cup the side of his neck instead.

“We were just talking about robotics with ease. Brought up some stuff I hadn’t considered at _all_. Your schematics make sense. You’re good at puzzles and fuckin’ fabulous with knowin’ how people are feeling.” He opens his mouth to argue, but you keep going. “ _And_ you’ve been nothing but good to me this entire time, while I’m out here fuckin’ up at every second.”

“Oh, like I haven’t been fucking up horribly!” Jake scoffs, pulling away, “I’m likely just very good at bullshitting! It’s practically all I do!”

“Not makin’ a convincin’ argument, sweetheart.” You shift your weight to one hip, raising your eyebrows.

“I’m…” It’s like Jake is trying to make himself smaller, still a good head taller than you. He’s pouting. “I’m not smart.”

“Not true,” you say. You lean in and give him a quick peck on the cheek. “And you can’t tell me otherwise.”

“Alright, alright,” Jake relents, chuckling slightly, “Believe what you will.”

“I will.” _Believe me. Please, Believe me._ “I believe in you, after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright, thats me. rating will be going up next chapter. leave a comment or kudos if you enjoyed! every comment ive gotten so far has been a treat to read <3


	8. spark in the night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the smut chapter, but for plot reasons. theyre in love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> up ahead: something incredibly tender and sweet. 
> 
> please note that this chapter contains PIV sex with a trans man, and if that makes you uncomfortable, skip from "actually, i'd rather like it if you would" to "you tuck a lock of hair behind his ear." most of it is them making out anyway. its. its gentle ok theyre in love

You find out from Roxy that Dave has a writing credit on a new comedy special. Jake hums softly as the popcorn heats up. July rolls into August, days humid and hot but never hot enough. Sometimes you sit up on the roof and point out constellations to Jake until the dew makes the shingles slippery and his body heat isn’t enough to keep you warm. Not tonight, though. Tonight, you sit on the counter and swing your legs idly, a measuring cup of melted butter beside you, popcorn popping in the microwave. 

“Truly," Jake says, “The lap of luxury. Buttery popcorn.” He walks over to stand between your legs, hands settling warmly on your hips, and kisses you. He tastes like your shitty citrus lip balm; you drape your arms around his neck and laugh.

“Ten dollar bucket at the movies and everything,” you murmur, and kiss him again.

“Ah, the little things in life.” He sighs softly, wistfully. “I wish we could have gone to the cinema more.”

“We did a few times at the beginning.” 

“A few times! But…” He sighs again, a little frustrated. “It was always as _celebrities_. Big names going to big premieres. I just want to be some random fellow off to the movies with his boyfriend.”

Oh. Oh, he said it. He said it. You feel your face flush pink like some shitty anime boy, glancing away and then back at Jake.

“If it’s worth anything, there’s a small movie theater at the base of the mountain.” He hums. “No one knows you’re out here, the place is usually empty, I’m just the guy who gets groceries sometimes. Only my landlady and the art store cashier know my name.”

“I just want to be normal. For a little bit, at least.” Jake huffs, but there’s no steam behind it. He rests his chin on your shoulder. “I think that’s all I ever really wanted, even off on my island.”

“Live with people, be face to face, not fight for some aspect of my life every day,” you say, and he scoffs. “Didn’t think livin’ a normal life would have so much noise, though. Hearing people talk? Fuckin’ crazy. Speaking’s weird, too.”

“Ah, that’s a shame. I like your voice.”

“You’re the one that got me talkin’ more in the first place.” He got you used to a lot of things. “Don’t know if I ever thanked you for that, bein’ all patient with me.”

“Of course I was.” Jake almost seems surprised, standing up straight again. “It’s because I loved you. And still do.” He squeezes your hips briefly and it gets a smile out of you. “May I kiss you?” You kiss him first, soft. He pulls you a little closer, humming “I love kissing you.” That makes you chuckle, smiling against his lips. “What?” he says, pulling back, feigning defensive, “You’re very nice to kiss!”

“I just love you,” you say with a simper, “Always gettin’ me with all these compliments.”

“Oh, I try,” he says, his blush and little grin making you steal another kiss.

“I love your laugh,” you say, “And your eyes, and just-- everything about you. I want to be able to tell you. I don’t want to stop telling you how in love with you I am. And I don’t want to fuck it up.” He’s so beautiful, standing here in the shitty linoleum of your kitchen, haloed in dust and artificial light. Crickets and frogs outside sing for him. The breeze through the open screen door is warm.

“Oh, Dirk,” he sighs, his gaze infinitely tender, “You won’t fuck it up. And if you do, we’ll fix it.” You’ve never been good at maintaining eye contact, but he’s holding it so softly that you can’t exactly look away. 

The microwave dings. Popcorn’s done.

You can’t help but laugh, and he laughs too, and you hug him tight. He sways side to side, gently rocking you, a silent little slow dance. He pulls back, a laugh still caught in his chest. “I should probably get that.” You reluctantly let him go, and he gets the popcorn ready. 

The first time you kissed Jake, you were watching a movie with him on your planet, and he glowed in the bluish light of the TV. You had just been friends at that point, friends who rescued each other from danger and got each other used to being around others and held hands sometimes when they knew no one was around to see, but still didn't acknowledge that they had been holding hands. You kissed him and remembered how the lips are one of the most nerve-filled places of the human body, and then he kissed back and all that overthinking went away.

The two of you settle on the couch, bowl of popcorn on your lap, as you play the comedy special Dave helped write. It’s pretty good, and you can tell a few of the spots where he wrote the jokes. You get comfortable pressed against Jake’s side, his arm around you. The special’s only an hour long, and by the end, the popcorn gone, you’ve got this warm feeling in your chest. As the credits play, you look up at him.

“It feels kinda stupid to ask,” you start, and he looks down with a curious expression, “but what is it you like about me?” He brushes your bangs out of your eyes, smiling.

“It’s not stupid!” he says, “Oh, goodness, where do I start?” He squeezes you closer, gesturing with his free hand. “I like your single-mindedness. How it feels like nothing is insurmountable if you, you specifically, put your mind to it. I like your big heart, too. I know you don’t always act it but oh my god, Dirk, you are so very full of love and it’s amazing to see you confident to express it.” You blush deeply, tucking your face against his side. He laughs, taking one of your hands. “It’s a bit more material, but I like your hands. How firmly you grip things.”

“My hands?”

“Yes! You’ve got very--” He threads his fingers through yours. “Augh, I don’t know the term. Purposeful? You’ve got very purposeful hands. It feels like everything you do with them is important.”

“I like to think I’m doin’ somethin’ important,” you say, squeezing his hand back, “For example. Holdin’ yours.”

“Ha, ha,” he teases, kissing the top of your head, “Well, it’s a start. Even the small things are important. Your little restless projects and all that.” You sit up, resting your head on his shoulder. The next program in the lineup has started to play. You turn the volume down low, and kiss the nearest patch of skin you can reach. Jake hums in response. “I love you. I think I’ll love you forever.” Your breath catches; your heart skips a beat. Play it cool. Play it cool.

“Oh.” Very smart. “You’re- you’re gonna--” Oh no. You’re getting choked up. You swallow the lump in your throat and push through. “Makin’ a guy blush over here.” He kisses your forehead. Eventually, you say, “...I love you. And I have forever.”

“Sounds perfect, then.”

You kiss his neck. “Perfect,” you say against his skin. He sighs softly, content. Slowly, you experimentally kiss his neck a few more times, and he shivers. “This okay?” you murmur.

“Yes-- yes, it’s okay. Quite okay. Very good, actually.” Jake’s voice is equally quiet, like you’re keeping a secret. He tilts his head to give you a little more room. You shift to get more comfortable, a hand on his chest, kissing down his neck, lips slightly parted. He makes a soft noise, and you can just picture how his head tilts back and his eyelids flutter shut. “Mn-- yeah.” You go a little further, lips brushing the bit of his collarbone not covered by his t-shirt. You start to pull away, and he makes a unhappy noise, slowly blinking at you. “That was- that was really good.”

“You want me to keep going?” You run your thumb over the spot you just kissed. “Don’t have to move past here.” Jake looks a little conflicted, biting his lip. You’re ready to be done if you need to.

“I-- Actually, I think I do.” He has no idea how relieved you are. You make sure to look him in the eye.

“You’ll tell me when you want to stop?”

“I will. Promise.” You nod, and murmur a soft _thank you_ into his skin. A few more open kisses, before you pick a nice, low spot and gently suck at the skin there. Jake lets out a soft, surprised moan, and a thrill goes up your spine. You don’t want to leave a mark, moving up to suck at another spot. He pulls you closer, hands on your hips, and you straddle his legs, kissing up toward his ear. You’re starting to get more into it, gently nipping his ear. 

“Ah!” If you’d been fully sitting on his lap, he would have ground up into you. “That was--” He laughs, and his face is red. “Do that again.” You do it again, more confident this time, and he lets out another soft noise. “Oh, yes,” he says, “That’s _good_.” 

“Yeah?” You breathe out a quiet laugh against his skin, just to feel him shiver, and move down to nip at his neck. He _moans_ , pulling you closer as you soothe the spot you just bit with your tongue.

“Fuck…” he breathes, fingers twitching, “May I touch you back?” That. That sends a jolt of heat between your legs. _Not yet_ , you sternly remind yourself.

“Yes, please, go ahead.” Didn’t sound too desperate. Score. Jake shifts, pulling you more firmly into his lap, one hand slipping just under the hem of your shirt on your lower back and the other resting at the top of your spine.

The first time Jake kissed your neck, the scar there was still pink and healing, even though the body you were in never had been decapitated. It appeared when you were kissed back to life, Derse’s very own Snow White, pain searing through your neck. You toughed it out. You shuddered as he kissed the scar, starting to pull away as the sensation overwhelmed you, body hot, your face burning. _Not used to intimacy_ was your excuse, ignoring that you very nearly were riding his thigh.

Now, he kisses it slowly, experimental but not shaky, another shiver sent down your spine. He kisses below your jaw and stays there, sucking at the spot, though it’s not enough to leave a mark. How courteous. You kiss the side of his face and try to not move your hips, groaning lowly.

“Feel good?” He trails his lips down towards your collarbone.

“Very good,” you say, biting your lip as he passes your scar to hold in a noise. He nips at your collarbone, your tank top making for easy access.

“May I kiss your scar again?” So considerate. You’re not even sure the thought is sarcastic.

“It’s--” You swallow, trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s sensitive. But you can.”

“I’ll be gentle, then,” he murmurs; the words vibrate through you down to your bones. It’s all you can do to not let the vibrations make you fly apart. He presses little kisses along the scar, sweet and almost ticklish as he goes. You tilt your head with a sigh, eyes closed. You thought you’d be shyer.

“You can do more. I can take it.” Jake nods and holds you steady, sucking at the scar before you can properly calibrate and control your reaction. You let out a surprised moan, holding tighter until he pulls back. You’re expecting the next one, a different point on the scar, the same careful suction, but this time you whine, your face flushed something terrible.

“You make the most amazing sounds,” Jake says, “Is that weird to say?” You look down; he’s blushing just as much as you are, a shy little smile on his face as you meet his eye. You laugh and kiss him.

“It makes sense, I suppose,” you say, and he smiles against your mouth.

“They’re lovely noises.” 

“Why thank you,” you say, stealing another kiss, “Y’ain’t to bad yourself, sweet thing.”

“Oh, what a lovely pet name.” He kisses the corner of your mouth this time.

“How else am I gonna let you know how sweet you’ve been t’me?”

“I like it,” he says, pulling back to look at you, “What should I call you? Darling? Treasure?” 

“Anything you want.” You sit back on his legs, smile easy and relaxed. “Love, darling, treasure, I’m here for it.” He studies you. Thinks. Makes a face like he’s weighing his options.

“My love, then,” he decides with a short nod.

This is the thing that makes you shy. Your eyes widen as you let the words take hold, and this, of all things, is the thing that makes the tips of your ears flush pink and makes you hide your face in your hands. 

“Oh,” you say intelligently, “Oh. That’s--” You swallow back the lump in your throat. “Wow.”

“Oh, my love,” Jake sighs. He pulls your hands away from your face and kisses them, kisses your bright red face, all over your cheeks and nose and lips. “My love, my love, my love.” Your eyes are starting to water; you blink away tears and when that doesn’t exactly work you kiss him instead, holding his face in your hands like he’s the whole world. He just kisses you back, plain and simple, and it’s _easy_ this time. It doesn’t hurt. “I love you, I love you so much. Oh, my love. My Dirk.” You manage a watery laugh and an _I love you, too_ in return. You don’t want to stop kissing him. 

He shifts, lying back on the couch and taking you with him. You use the opportunity to kiss along his jaw, his neck. He tilts his head to give you more room and you, maybe somewhat boldly, go a little further; a bite here and there, kisses that are a little more open-mouthed. He lets out a half-sigh, half-moan at the bites, and softly gasps as you pull his t-shirt aside enough to lightly suck at his collarbone. He squirms as you go back up for another heated kiss, and, oh, he’s starting to get hard. Oh. Holy shit. You don’t entirely realize it as you roll your hips down, instinct, but you do feel it when he pauses, hesitates, and then rocks back into you.

“You okay with this?” you say, kissing the side of his face.

“Y-yes.” Jake has one hand on your lower back again, over your shirt. He traces down your spine with a finger. “I’m just… I’m a little startled by it?” He says it like a question, like he’s not entirely certain. “I- I thought I’d be upset with- with all of this. Kissing you and being intimate.”

“But it’s alright?” You try to hold completely still, pull back, look at his face. “And you’ll let me know when you want to stop?”

“It’s--” He hesitates again, but nods. “It is. It’s alright. More than alright, actually.” He meets your eye, and you just about melt. “I trust you.”

You kiss him deeply, not wanting to let him go. He trusts you. He trusts you. “Thank you,” you say, “Thank you, I love you, I love you so much.” He holds you close and you run your fingers through his hair, slowly rolling your hips down again. He grinds back up against you with another quiet groan. 

You run a hand down his side before slipping it up his shirt, just smoothing your hand over his skin. He shivers slightly, skin warm under your hand. He sits up as you start to pull his shirt up, helping you get him out of it. The shirt is dropped off to the side with little extra thought. He’s beautiful. He’s so beautiful. You’re staring.

“Now, this just isn’t fair,” Jake says, breaking you out of your trance. He’s blushing. His hands find the hem of your tank, fiddling with it. “I’ve got to level the playing field.” He glances back to your face, checking in. “If you’re okay with that.”

“I’m okay with it.” Maybe he’s remembering all the times you refused to take your shirt off in the Medium. It’s different now. The tank top comes off and is dropped to the side just like his shirt was. He adjusts you in his lap, hands skating down your sides and settling on your hips. He presses a single kiss to your collarbone.

“You’re incredible.”

You grind down against him and he moans, and oh fuck, you’re wet. You need to keep yourself under control.

“Y’ain’t too bad yourself, sugar,” you say instead, moving with him as he rocks back into you, “Beautiful. Just--” You kiss him. “--amazing.” He flushes pink and looks away. You tilt his face back towards you, touch gentle, and give him another sweet kiss. “All good?”

“All good. Just…” He gives a nervous chuckle. “Normal shyness.” 

“Just checking,” you say, “I’m here.”

He kisses the corner of your mouth. “I know. I’m glad.” His finger traces around the waistband of your pants. Slips just beneath and graces the skin just below.

“You wanna stay on the couch?” 

“Might be nice to go to the bed.” You’d hoped he’d say something like that, but it still makes your heart rate spike when he does. You give him one last good grind before getting up, his little whine going straight to your gut. You scoop up the shirts and he stands, and he visibly - fuck - adjusts himself in his pants and you think you’re going to combust. He’s close behind as you walk up the stairs, taking your hand almost shyly. 

You get into the bedroom. The shirts are tossed away. You tug Jake towards the bed, and he giggles as you pull him down. You’re laughing too, as he lands over you; you kiss his face and he does the same to you. He starts to say something, but you cut him off.

“So fuckin’ beautiful, I love you so much,” you say between kisses and laughs, and he stops you with another, deeper kiss that leaves you stupid.

“Hush, you. Let me talk.” You’re too stunned by him to say anything in the first place. “You know,” he continues, “I’ve barely had a chance to tell you how much I love you in return!” The tips of your ears go red. “Because I do! I love you, Dirk Strider.” He kisses you again. “You’re amazing--” Kiss. “--and brilliant--” Kiss. “--and funny--” Kiss. “--and you’re my best friend in the whole damn world. And you’re gorgeous to boot.”

“ _Ja_ -ake…” It’s your turn to blush, to turn away, to say your boyfriend’s name as two syllables because you’re flustered.

“Turnabout’s fair play, mister,” Jake grins, kissing at your neck. You bite your lip, stifling a whine. “Oh, that was a nice one.” He kisses down to your scar, gently nipping at the tissue there, and it draws a gasp out of you immediately. You press your face to the side of his neck, moan cut off. “Good or bad?” He’s so good to you.

“Good.” You swallow. Pull your face away. “Really good.” 

Jake does it again, bites at your scar. You buck into him unconsciously, pulling him down to lay beside you. He holds you by the waist and sucks at your neck again. He grinds back at your next moan, a moan of his own escaping as you move in time. You trace a hand down his side, running a finger over the waistband of his pants. He makes a soft noise into your neck, nibbling again at your throat, grinding back into you, and you take it as a sign to keep going. Slowly, you slip your hand into his pants. He’s - he’s incredibly hard, _nice,_ as you palm over his boxers; he kisses you, languid and sweet.

The first time you and Jake had sex was a bit of a mess. His motions were clumsy and unpracticed, and you moved into whatever felt good. He sucked a mark into your freshly healed neck, with you grinding against him as his hands moved over you. You were nervous and turned on and lube went everywhere but you had a good time. 

Now, you’re almost overwhelmed, as Jake moans into the kiss and grinds into your hand, and as he slides a hand into your pants in return and feels around. You inhale sharply as he presses his fingers against your folds; you’re damn near wet enough to feel through your briefs. 

“May I?” You tug lightly at his waistband.

“You may! Actually, I’d rather like it if you would.” That kind of surprises you. Both his and your pants are shucked unceremoniously to the floor. You grind into him, he groans back into you; he slides his hands down your sides, you squirm against him. “You’re amazing,” he whispers. Your hand finds the boxers and you tug lightly, hesitantly.

“Can I…?” You meet his eyes. 

“I…” He tenses, even more hesitant than you, and you start to pull your hand away. “Yes. You can.” You have to take a deep breath, let it out slowly. Stop yourself from thanking him too profusely and killing the mood. 

“Tell me if you need to take a break or stop.” Hands on Jake’s hips, you ease his boxers down, thumbs rubbing at his hipbones. You kiss his cheek, then kick off your own briefs for good measure. It’s just the two of you now, in your bed, further than either of you had imagined when you’d met back up at the party those few weeks ago. “All good?” 

He nods, swallowing before saying, “All good.” You nod towards the bedside table; he takes the hint and grabs a condom.

You kiss him, deep, open-mouthed, as he lays back down, hooking a leg over his hip and letting his cock slide between your folds. The head catches at your entrance a few times, and you’re so turned on he could probably just slip right in if he wanted to. “You’re amazing,” Jake says with a quiet awe, “You really are.” He pushes against you a little harder, briefly rubbing against your dick in a way that makes you gasp.

“Want you,” you breathe, “Fuck, I want you so bad.”

“I want you too, darling.” He kisses your neck and you melt. 

“You can--” You whine, your voice breaking. “Please.” He guides the head of his cock to your hole and hesitates for just long enough that you start to doubt that he wants this. Does he? He just said it, but was he saying it to make you feel better? Should you stop? Should you-- Your train of thought is cut off by him starting to push in. You’re relaxed and open still, and he slips in without a problem. It’s almost too much. You draw in a sharp breath, and he makes a curious noise. “Keep- keep going. Fuck.”

“You feel amazing,” he says, “So good.” Maybe the praise sends a little thrill up your spine, maybe not, who are you to say? Maybe you just clutch him tighter as he passes over your sweet spot. “Oh, my love…” You’re overwhelmed. Yeah, that’s it. You’re overwhelmed with - with something - as he kisses up your throat and over your face, as he finally gets to the base. 

“Jake…” You pant into his neck, unable to keep in the little _“a-ah-”_ as he buries that last half inch in you and stops moving. He kisses over your face while you adjust, and you sometimes manage to kiss him back. “I love you, I love you so fuckin’ much, Jake, _please_ \--”

“Oh, Dirk,” he sighs, kissing you slow and sweet, “I love you, too. So very much.” You breathe, now used to the feeling of having him - having actual, real-life, love-of-your-life Jake English inside you, and clench around him to see his reaction. “Oh-- my god.” His chin drops to his chest, his breathing heavy. Fuckin’ success.

“Feelin’ good?”

“Incredibly.” You’re making him feel this good. 

“Y-you can move,” you say, before changing your mind, “Need you to move.” 

Jake starts to rock his hips, slowly at first, until he finds a rhythm. He leans in to nip again at your scar; you clutch close to him, tightening up, and- and letting out embarrassing little noises he seems to love. He groans softly as you tighten up, fucking into you harder than before. God, that’s fucking good. He hits right against your sweet spot and you swear you see stars. 

“O-oh--”

“Right there?” He hits against it again, this time clearly on purpose.

“Yes- yes- right there.” 

You’re getting towards that point, the one where you get a little incoherent and a little eyes-roll-back-feeling-too-good. Jake aims for the spot and doesn’t miss. Toes curling, you arch into him. And then he goes and makes it better. Your eyes fly open - when did they close? - as his thumb finds your dick, another gasp tearing from you. He’s got the rhythm down to a science and while you might have some long-post-coital thoughts about that later, all you’re thinking now is a steady stream of _yes, yes, yes, yesyesyes--_ as he rubs your dick in time with his thrusts. You’re getting tighter, which means Jake fucks into you harder, which means you’re getting closer. Fuck, you’re close.

“Jake--” You’re so fucking close. “A-Almost--” He catches you in a deep kiss as the feeling crests, builds, so much sensation at once. He hits your sweet spot dead on and that’s it. You’re gone. You come with a cry; Jake fucks you through it, his gaze intense as he watches you come down. You’re-- you’re so fuckin’ relaxed. You feel so good. You come back to your body after a moment, giving Jake a lazy smile. He kisses the corner of your mouth, starting to pull out. You wrap your leg around him tighter, keeping him in. “You can keep goin’,” you murmur, “Wanna make you feel good.”

“You’re sure?” His eyebrows furrow. If you could move up that far you’d kiss the crease between them. Instead, you just squeeze around him again, getting him to moan again. He’s so gorgeous when he moans. You feel like you have hearts floating around your head like a cartoon character.

“Real sure. I’m good.” 

Jake rolls you from both laying on your sides to you on your back, so you can look up at him like he’s your entire night sky. He rolls his hips experimentally, and gets back into a good pace when you don’t protest. You keep him close, fingers running through his hair, voice soft in his ear.

“So good, you feel so good, amazing, I love you, please.”

He shudders, losing rhythm and -- “Oh, fuck, _Dirk--_ ” -- thrusting a few more times before gasping and going still. You don’t stop, kissing the side of his face until he pulls away. He deals with the condom almost mechanically, but still sets his glasses aside and lays down beside you. You resume playing with his hair as he goes limp, still breathing hard and shivering slightly. You pull the flat sheet up for good measure. 

“I love you,” he mumbles.

“I love you, too.” You tuck a lock of hair behind his ear and gently kiss him. “So good to me, sweetheart.”

“I- I try to be...” Jake presses his face to your neck, taking a deep breath. You want to reassure him immediately, _you are, you are,_ but there’s something more here. You cradle his head, smoothing his hair down in the back.

“...You okay?” you say softly.

“I- I think so?” His voice trembles. “I feel like I’m going to cry, but I’m not upset.” You hold him closer.

“Overwhelmed?”

“And happy.” 

You smile softly, kissing his forehead. “Good.”

Jake sniffles, holding onto you and not letting go. It’s not like the first night, not quite - he cries quietly into your shoulder, silent tears cooling against your skin, chest hitching every so often. You kiss the top of his head. He’s safe here. He knows that. You’re going to keep him safe. He trusts you. 

“I love you,” he says, curling up against your side, “So, so much.”

“I love you, too,” you promise, “You’re amazing. So beautiful.” You brush your thumb under his eye, catching a stray tear. He leans into your hand, kissing your palm.

“So are you.”

You lay like that for a little while longer, until your thighs start to feel tacky. You give Jake one more quick kiss before getting out of bed to clean up. You’re back in a moment with a washcloth for him, and he cleans off as you tug a pair of shorts on and lay beside him again. He does the same, and curls up close to you. You kiss him slowly, and his arms carefully wrap around you. 

“How are you feeling?” you ask, forehead against his.

“Very good. Relaxed,” he whispers back.

“Good. I’m glad.”

“Mm. Kiss me?”

“Of course.” You oblige. Sweet, still in that afterglow kind of mood. You yawn, all those sappy feelings coming to the surface. “You’re so good to me, angel.” Kiss his cheek. “I wanna be that good to you.” Other cheek.

“I try to be,” he says, a note of self-consciousness creeping into his voice. None of that. Not now.

“You’re doin’ it. Don’t you worry.” Kiss his nose. That gets a little giggle back. “You’ve been nothin’ but good to me.” He sniffles, hugging you tight. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

“I love you. I love you so much.” You want to chase away everyone and everything that made him feel like he couldn’t be.

“To the ends of the earth and back, sweetheart.” He sniffles again. “I’m here,” you say, “It’s okay.”

“It’s okay,” he repeats shakily. You coax him to look at you, and kiss him again. Beautiful. Now you really rest. You doze. He wraps himself around you like a sloth hugging a branch, eyes closing. Guess you’re stuck here. You listen to him breathe. He’s probably asleep.

“Thank you for trusting me,” you say quietly. His eyes blink open, forest-you-want-to-get-lost-in green. Well. _Probably_ is not _definitely_.

“I’ll always trust you.” Oh. Oh. Okay. You blush heavily and cover your face with a hand. He chuckles and kisses your fingers until you move them enough for him to kiss your lips. 

You make sure to kiss him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright, so by my estimate, this is the halfway point. updates might be a little slower as the summer ramps up, but we'll see!
> 
> sorry this took a while! i hope _collected documentation_ was enough to tide yall over 
> 
> as always, i live for kudos and comments! seeyall next time! <3


	9. what you need is a crutch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the promised roxy vacation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the roxy vibe chapter. discussions of gender ahead

Things start to get… domestic. Incredibly domestic.

Waffles on a quiet Sunday morning. Fresh wild strawberries from the hill made into jam. Dancing in the hazy porchlight to whatever’s on the radio. Messing around with powers with minimal pain. Grocery shopping and going to the art store and a peck on the cheek before going out.

_ “Okay. It’s orange soda. Make it blue.” _

_ “Do they make blue soda?” _

_ “Probably, I don’t know. Doesn’t matter. Just try to turn the can blue. You have to believe the can is blue.” _

_ “This is giving me a headache.” _

_ You shrug. Jake goes upstairs to lay down. You grab the still-orange can, take a sip, and spit it out when the soda is blueberry-flavored instead of citrus. _

Jake’s on a morning run while you lean against the counter and sip your coffee. You watched the mist evaporate golden off the mountain when you woke up. It was nice. Reminded you of an old Earth book you read once. It’s still early enough to be called morning. Your phone buzzes.

tipsyGnostalgic [TG] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT]!  
TG: eyyyy d stri  
TT: Mornin’, RoLal.  
TG: woa that was fast  
TG: usally u take 4EVER to text back  
TG: also wym morning its like 4 pm lol  
TT: You caught me at a good time.  
TT: It’s almost 10 here.  
TG: and ur AWAKE  
TG: holy fuck i gotta tell callie  


You chuckle into your coffee.

TG: anyway  
TG: u wanna come vibe w us  
TG: you said u would like a month ago n since uve been gone like  
TG: i miss u lol  
TT: We do have a lot to catch up on.  
TT: I’ll have to ask Jake. He’s out right now.  
TG: bring him!!! i miss him 2!!!!  
TT: We’ll see.  
TT: How busy is the Carapace capitol?  
TG: o we dont live there  
TG: callie doesnt like the city : (  
TG: so now were livin in da suburbs babeyyy  


Even better.

TT: Oh?  
TG: ya we have like celeb status n stuff but bein rulers n stuff dont actually make sense?  
TG: there was a govt here already lol  
TG: rose n kanaya did the same thing but were famous  


You’re pretty sure Jane and Jake were the only ones who didn’t do that. That’s a problem for you to ponder over later.

TT: Yeah, the ‘being queens and kings of previously autonomous countries’ didn’t make much sense to me either.  
TG: ya like  
TG: u want these KIDS runnin ur country?? janes 16 bro whats she gonna do  
TG: u cant even RUN for anything in the human kingdome til ur 30  
TG: *kingom  
TG: **kingdom  
TT: When would be a good time to come over?  
TG: whenever i guess??  
TG: tonite maybe  
TG: stay a few days  
TG: we gotta gust room  
TG: *guest room  
TT: That sounds pretty solid.  
TT: I’ll ask Jake. See what he says.  
TT: And see how quickly we can pack.  
TG: fucka yea  
tipsyGnostalgic [TG] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT]!  


Jake gets home a little while later. You think he’s starting to get comfortable with his body again; he’s wearing a loose pair of basketball shorts today. Of course, it could just be the August heat making it impossible to wear his sweats, but you like to have hope.

"Good morning!" he greets cheerfully, leaning against the door frame to catch his breath. You admire him from here, broad shoulders, tousled hair, now-effortless smile that makes your heart flutter.

"Hey there." You finish off your coffee. "Good run?"

"Oh, excellent," he says, snagging a glass and filling it up in the sink. He drains it and pecks you on the cheek as he passes. "Be right back!" He jogs up the stairs, and a moment later you hear the shower start up.

You suppose you should eat. You’re not great at remembering to do that all the time. So you make breakfast. You feel a little mechanical about it, like you’re just going through the motions. You stomach does a weird little flip as you mindlessly crack eggs into a pan and stir in scallions and cheese. 

By the time Jake comes back down, you’re sitting at the table with your food, only kind of eating it. You look up when he sits beside you and puts his hand over yours. His hair is still a little wet.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“Oh, right.” You blink, a little more present. “Roxy invited us to visit.” Jake furrows his brows. You quickly try to amend your statement. “They don’t live in the city. Suburbs. And everyone’s minding their own business over there.” Jake still looks a little doubtful, thinking. You sigh. “If you wanna stay here I’m sure they won’t mind.” You glance away, picking at your eggs with your fork.

“What’s the weather like there?” Jake says. You look up, and he’s grinning. “I’ll have to pack appropriately, after all.”

* * *

Your arrival in the Carapace Kingdom is met with little fanfare, if any at all. The coordinates Roxy gave you dropped you off at you assume is the Earth C equivalent of an airport, not that you’ve ever been to either. People rush around to transportalizers, lines form, passports are checked. The Carapacian stamping your passport doesn’t seem to notice much either; they read your name with a clear disinterest and don’t get starry-eyed the way anyone in the Human capitol would. Religious names are common and as much as it pains you to hear, there have to be more than a handful of Dirk Striders out there. Maybe you’re just another one of those masses. That’s just fine. You’re just another Dirk Strider without any marks to signify that you’re one of the creators, no, don’t push aside the choker, it’s definitely not hiding anything. You’ve seen how people stare. You’ve seen how Jake gives you a look now and then like he’s guilty. You might as well cover it up.

They do give a little pause as Jake comes through behind you. There’s that moment of,  _ wait, hold on, is that  _ **_the_ ** _ Jake English?  _ but you pull him through before anyone can ask for autographs.

Roxy is waiting for you in the terminal lobby, wearing an inconspicuous Void aspect hoodie and big, heart-shaped pink sunglasses. Their hair is shorter than you remember, tight curls cropped closer to the back of their head. They squeal in delight as they spot you, running forward and almost knocking you to the ground with the force of their hug.

“You’re here!” they say when they stop squeezing you like the world’s most delighted boa constrictor. They hold you by the shoulders and study your face, making the same pouty face Dave does when he concentrates. “Well, D-Stri, I can’t say you got taller, but at least you’re still cute.” Roxy pinches your cheek as you blush, and turns their attention to Jake. “And you!”

“Who, me?” Jake laughs and accepts the hug easily. “Hello to you too, Mx. Lalonde.”

“You been takin’ care of this loser?” Roxy nods their head back towards you, and Jake laughs again. 

“I like to think we’re both doing an alright job, yes.”

“Good.” Roxy pulls back, stance wide, fists on their hips. “Alright, boys. Let’s get outta here. Callie’s waitin’ back home.”

A domestic transportalizer takes you to a smaller terminal; as Roxy leads you through to the private transports, you catch what looks to be a town square outside. It’s early evening here, a definite shift from the afternoon sun you left back home. If you weren’t carrying luggage, you’d want to take a stroll. There appears to be a restaurant nearby, outdoor tables seating midsummer couples. That might be nice. You haven’t gone out to eat in a long time. Roxy piles you three onto a private transportalizer, types in the coordinates, and that weightless feeling takes you again. 

When you open your eyes, you find yourself in a small entrance hall, a vestibule. Roxy tells you to take off your shoes as they ruffle your hair. The main room is open plan, high ceiling and a balcony overlooking the couches, a wall only breaking up your view to hide the stairs. The walls are covered in framed photos and tapestries and string lights, a few potted plants taking residence in the corner. Outside, you see a compact, powder-pink car in a short driveway, and a green-skinned figure in a yellow dress and large sunhat watering a garden. Roxy sticks their head out the door and calls to the figure.

“Callie!” 

Calliope looks up, a watering can in hand, as the three of you leave your bags in the vestibule and walk out to join her. She beams, smile sweet and toothy, and bounds over to join you. She greets you and Jake both with a kiss to the cheek - little more than a soft hiss and flicker of her snakelike tongue - and a hug. You get a look around as she exchanges pleasantries with Jake, the garden full of brightly colored flowers and a few hanging tomato planters. It’s nice. You should do something like this. The two of them continue to talk. Callie leads Jake away, and Roxy tugs at the crook of your elbow.

“Heya. Strider. Let’s get your stuff inside.” 

Roxy and Calliope’s place is nice. You like it. It’s spacious. It’s got character. They called themselves the ruler of all cats and Carapacians, but all you see is a few kittens wandering around and bumping into things. Roxy points them all out as you go, carrying Jake’s suitcase over their shoulder with ease. 

“General Mittens, Meatloaf, the Producer, Buttons, the Grinch,  _ Kevin _ ,” they say, the aforementioned Kevin taking a humorous tumble down a few carpeted stairs. 

You tug your suitcase up the stairs after them, until you’re lead into a nice side room. It’s almost like you’re real adults. Roxy has a guest room, and you’re going to sleep in it. Fucking wild. Suitcases down. Another cat wanders into the room as you and Roxy sit on the floor, nuzzling its head against your knee insistently. “An’ this one’s Tortellini.” 

“Thanks. For letting us hang out.” You cautiously pet Tortellini, who purrs vehemently.

“Of course!” Roxy knocks their shoulder against yours and nearly knocks you over. You laugh, and they launch into what they’ve been up to in the last year. Staying with Callie, how their hobbies are going, how Callie is doing, what Callie has been up to, Callie Callie Callie. “...And, like, you saw her!! That dress? That  _ hat?  _ Her little  _ snakey kiss?  _ I’m gonna die, Dirk. I can’t do it.” By this point, they’re lying across your lap, and you’re playing with their hair. The heart-shaped sunglasses really are appropriate.

“You’re pretty in love with her, huh?” Buttons the Kitten bumps the door open with its head and walks up Roxy’s leg to lay on their chest. Roxy sighs.

“Yeah...” They idly pet the kitten. You idly consider getting a cat. They tilt their head up and look at you upside down. “Not like you’re much better with Jake, though.”

“Hey.” You narrow your eyes, frowning jokingly at Roxy. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Babe. As  _ if  _ you weren’t givin’ him the  _ biggest _ goo-goo eyes out there.” You snort, lightly pushing their head. They laugh, looking up at you over their sunglasses. “So I could ask the same question. You’re pretty in love with him.”

“You got no idea.” You’re not the biggest fan of being soft. You kind of hate it. Get too softboy and you’d die, not that it’s a weakness thing. Maybe it’s a weakness thing. You’re still working on it. But… you live in the mountains and make jam with wild strawberries and go on walks with your boyfriend. You can allow yourself to be soft once in a while. “I mean. He’s amazing. I don’t know where I’d start. I can’t imagine how he’s able to put up with me. He’s so understanding and I just…” You sigh, shrugging. “I want him to know how much I appreciate him.”

Roxy hums. You’re alright with it being quiet, you think, with just the two of you sitting here like you used to during the game. You’d sit together when everyone else was a little too much to deal with, when Jane and Jake were too loud and you just wanted some peace. Sit on the floor. Hang out with a cat. Maybe listen to some music. Just the two of you. 

“Have you given him any reason to think you didn’t appreciate him?” they eventually say. You… you don’t think you have. You hope you haven’t.

“...No? But--”

“No ‘but’s, dude. You’re doing the whole communication thing. He’d tell you.”

“But--” You can feel your notorious self-doubt begin to creep up on you. “But what if he’s too nervous to tell me no? What if I’m pushing him too much? What if all my fucking soul business is too hard for him to deal with?” 

You’re not allowed to panic in front of Roxy. That was something you swore you wouldn’t do anymore. You’re better than this. You had to rip out a soul that felt like poison in your lungs and acid in your hands, lime green and vile. By nature of your souls, it had to be a version of you, but even your worst selves are at least a little bearable. This one fought you the whole time and left you hurting longer than usual, head pounding  like you’d been hit with a broom  and leg feeling  torn broken but physically perfectly fine. You felt sick. You were sick. He joined with little warning and you removed him immediately, but it ruined the week. You’ve ruined quite a few weeks. You’re not allowed to panic in front of Roxy.

“Woah, woah, woah, hol’up. I know you got all that soul stuff since it’s your powers but what do you mean ‘soul business?’” Roxy interrupts, sitting up and leaning against the bed next to you. Yeah, that might need to be explained. 

“Remember the Creators’ lunch last year?” 

_ John’s not here. He’s supposed to be the head of the Creators. At least it’s just a nice lunch instead of a parade like the first time. So John’s not here. You heavily considered not coming. You have a headache. Jane greets you with a practiced smile, Roxy gives you an enthusiastic wave and a big grin. You raise a hand in greeting back. You don’t quite grin. Dave is leaning on Karkat like they’re married or they’ve never been interested in each other. Jade tries to talk to you but you brush her off. Jake makes eye contact. Looks away.  _

_ You tell Jane’s dad that you have early-onset heartburn - not entirely false, you do feel like you’ve been stabbed - and excuse yourself halfway through the meal. For a little while, you wander through the Human Kingdom. You pass John and Jane’s house. John’s watching you from the upstairs window, and shuts the curtain when you wave.  _

“Yeah, for a fifth anniversary it kinda sucked? Not enough celebratin’.” 

“I... started having weird dreams around then.” You try to explain it to them in the vaguest terms you can. You specifically do not mention that it hurts to get rid of the souls and that it hurts every time one of them joins you. You do mention, however, memories of being Dirk Lalonde, leet haxxor and clone-er of cats. And how Roxy Strider was the coolest gal on that side of the ocean. However, you do pause.

“Gal? Is that alright for me to say? Because she was another you, but you’re not…” 

“Well, like.” Roxy blows hair out of their eyes. “She wasn’t  _ me. I’m  _ me. And this me is like ‘haha fuck gender’ but maybe that one wasn’t? If she was a girl then good for her, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I’m gonna be one. T-B-H if I’m gonna gender myself at all it’ll be ‘cuz it’s funny.” They chuckle, and then sigh. “Y’know,” they start, “for the longest time, I think I wanted to be like you.”

“Can’t relate,” you deadpan. They push your shoulder with a snort.

“I mean it!! You were so cool and confident and always knew what you were doing!” That wasn’t you. That was probably Hal. Hal always knew what he was doing. You wanted to be like Hal. Hal did not have to deal with the physical repercussions of having emotions, having body, all that. You’re lucky that Roxy can’t hear your inner monologue; they’d probably toss the kitten they’re petting in your face and tell you to shut up with the self-loathing. You glance back to see said kitten waddling out the door. Maybe you’d be safe, then. They continue on. “All smart and cute, too. You were a total nerd, but like, y’know? You knew who you were.” 

Well, that one is true. Mostly. Do you know who you are now? You’re Dirk. You’ve always been Dirk, and you think that’s all you’ve really needed. The videos your Bro left you all referred to you as Dirk. It had to be your name. He knew you were you and you knew you were a guy, and you think you only ever had problems about that when you turned twelve. Going godtier took away the stuff you didn’t want and gave you the things you did (and fuck knows what that physically does to you, but you’ll get to that when it becomes a problem) and you’re fine with that. That’s maybe the one thing that you’ve been confident in, that you’re Dirk and you’re a dude and you only like dudes. You didn’t always put a word to it, you know, antediluvian and who can really have a label on sexuality when there’s no one to reflect your identity off of, but Jake did and Roxy would and you don’t think you ever actually told Jane but she probably knew, she knew, right? Did you ever tell Jane you were gay? Did you tell her you were trans?

“Yeah, I suppose.” You shrug one shoulder half-heartedly. 

“The point is that you  _ knew _ ,” they stress, leaning into you again, “You were like ‘btw Roxy my bff whomst I love very much my bod isn’t the one ur thinkin’ and I was like ‘lol cool’ but like.” They hmph quietly, thinking. “Like. I didn’t realize I could do that. You made it obvious that it was an option. An’ I was like, ‘oh hey if Dirk can trans HIS gender, what if…  _ I _ could trans  _ MY  _ gender??’ and then immediately totally forgot?? And like. Y’know.” Their cheeks flush pink for a second. “Convinced myself I was in love with you or whatever. Huge dick move on my part, me pursuin’ you like that an’ all.” 

You shrug again. You can’t fault them for that. You never let them know how you felt about it, and Hal always played along. And when they kissed y-- you promised to never speak of that again. You didn’t want to hurt them. That’s all.

“Sorry,” you say. This time, Roxy fully shoves you over. Your face meets carpeted floor before you can process that you’re falling.

“ _ I’m  _ the one apologizing to  _ you,  _ genius.” Oh. Right. You accept. You hope Roxy understands that. You don’t get up quite yet, as another kitten - Meatloaf, maybe? - stumbles into the room, tail a perfect upright triangle. You hold out a hand and it sniffs at your fingers, before bumping its head into your palm. “Aww, she likes you.”

The conversation lulls. Being quiet around Roxy isn’t hard, though. You don’t feel the need to fill the silence. Sometimes kittens wander in and out, sometimes it’s an older cat, sometimes they rub their heads on your knees and cover your jeans in fur. 

“Y’know,” Roxy says, “You didn’t tell me how things were really goin’ with Jake.”

“I mean…” You bite your lip. “You can see it for yourself, can’t you? I’m all super goo-goo eyes over him.”

"Yeah, but you were out here messagin' me like 'Roxy help take down these photos bc my mans has body image issues from bein’ too hot' an’ everything. You didn't tell me that directly, I'm just - what’s it called? Extrapolatin' information." 

"What is it you're trying to get out of me, Roxy? I’ve had sex with my boyfriend a couple times, and it hasn't resulted in further trauma. He prefers to cover up. He’s tired of being sexualized to hell and back and hates paparazzi. He wants to be a normal person.” You don’t mean to snap. They know that. They’ll understand, probably. “I- I think he’s starting to get more confident about the fact that he has an attractive body and how that’s not why I'm with him. But someone - I- I think it might have been Jane - drilled it into his head that he wasn’t good for much else and--” You huff, losing steam. “-- and it hurts to see. And I want to see him get better. I don’t know.” 

Roxy hums. A cat makes itself comfortable in your lap, as if sensing your unease. 

“Jane… did seem a little weird, last time I saw her,” Roxy says slowly, “Out of character. A lot meaner, too. Not that- not that people have a certain specific way they’re supposed to act, maybe she just got meaner because she got older and more ruthless? But it didn’t feel  _ like  _ her.” You think back to that look on her face when she stormed into the office, of the rage in her eyes as Jake defied her. It was… unnatural. Maybe Jane’s been having the same problems you have. Maybe she’s just gotten meaner and older like Roxy said. But that doesn’t feel right. “‘Cause she was always so sweet n’ nice n’ everything, but when I saw her she had all that Crocker jewelry and was super cold? Like,  _ oh, hi Roxy, what do you want please get out of my office _ and not greetin’ her bffsie for life in any normal way. Maybe gettin’ into politics’ll do that? I dunno.”

“She’s too young to do that,” you say. It just occurred to you. “Jane’s too young to run for high-up positions. She doesn’t even have a degree of any kind. She finished high school and took over Crockercorp when she turned eighteen.” You never got to finish high school. You kind of wish you got to start. It feels like it’s out of the blue when Roxy starts laughing. “What? What is it?”

“Of  _ course _ she’s too young,” they say, shaking their head, “Dude, we’re too young for any of this shit! Jane being a CEO? Jake being some straight up sex symbol?? Yeah people get sexualized like real quick and it’s super shitty but the guy’s twenty-one! We all are! Holy fuck.” You don’t see why this is funny. You raise an eyebrow, and Roxy wipes away a tear. “Like, think about it. Jane’s a CEO and she hasn’t gone to college. She got it through sheer inheritance. Jake showed up and was sexy, and as soon as he could they put his ass on TV.” You bristle at how causal they make it seem. They must notice, because they say, “See, you think it’s fucked up too! We’re supposed to be, like, stupid and just now able to get beer! And  _ yeah _ , we all had our fuckin’ problems with drinkin’ an’ stuff but that was for  _ totally  _ different reasons.”

“...Jake mentioned having an alcohol problem. He was… pretty drunk when I found him.” He was probably being supplied, not just at parties. Not with how Jane addressed him. “Just-- ugh. I only know how to do finance shit because Jane’s dad taught me everything. As  _ if  _ we’re real fuckin’ adults.” Alright, you see what’s funny. You allow yourself a weak laugh. It’s funny. And sad. Of course it’s sad. All this shit has been. You’re all just shitty celebrities that the tabloids are just  _ waiting  _ to pounce on. Your reappearance was all over the news.  _ Creator Dirk Strider spotted accompanying Jake English to Skaianet estate. _ “Seeing him like that broke my heart. He tried to make everyone believe he was fine.”

Roxy hums. You should tell them. You should tell them. 

“I, uh.” They look up. Meet your eyes. You glance away. Gnaw your lip. “Remember what happened right after we went godtier?”

“You went to space, I tried to get the orb, Jake went to jail, Jane got evil,” they say, counting each one off on their fingers.

“...Yeah. About that. Jake--” Your voice catches in your throat, anxiety building. Roxy slips an arm around you and tugs you close. “Jake summoned another version of me. And with all the soul stuff, I remembered the things he knew. And he saw what Jane and Jake were up to. She threatened him. Told him he was only good for his body. It really fucked with his self esteem.”

“And now that he’s--”

“Yeah. Exactly.”

Roxy makes a sad sound. You sigh. Bit of a downer. All of this is. 

“But we’re gonna fix it?” Roxy has a note of hope in their voice. You nod.

“We’re trying. And it sounds like Jane is where we can really start.” 

* * *

It’s later. Callie brings in a few fresh tomatoes from the garden. Jake has a few flecks of dirt on him. They must have been busy. You’ve been trusted with the knives for tonight, chopping up the ingredients with techniques one of the other Dirks must have learned. Roxy realizes at some point that they don’t actually have all of the supplies needed for the recipe, and summons several different types of spices from seemingly thin air. The light taste of ozone should probably startle you more than it does. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice that Jake is faintly glowing. His conversation with Callie is animated and friendly, motions genuine and open. Another facet of his powers? You watch as he lights up the room, laughter making the room feel lighter. The glow around him is white - not the gold from when he was faking it. This is genuine. He’s not even trying. Roxy nudges you with an elbow.

“Ooh, you have a cru-ush,” they singsong; you snort and nudge them back. 

Dinner is a simple affair, conversation is easy, everything seems normal. Crickets chirp outside. Jake reaches into the napkin holder and pulls out one that does not look like any of the others. You don’t address that. The others don’t seem to notice. Your phone buzzes, twice. You’d prefer to not address that either. You only check it once everything is put away.

gutsyGumshoe [GG] started bothering timaeusTestified [TT]!  
GG: Good afternoon, Mr. Strider.  
GG: I believe you said we should talk some time ago. Give me a call, won’t you?  


The blue of her text makes your heart sink. Callie, suddenly by your elbow (had she always been there?), seems to notice. 

“Something the matter?” Something is very much the matter.

“I just have to make a call,” you say, a little strained. A cat brushes against your legs. You force yourself to breathe normally. “Right now, probably.” She lets you go.

TT: Are you free now?  


You step into a side hallway. You don’t want Jane to respond.

GG: I have some time. Call away.  


You find Jane’s number in your phone. Hit the call button. Act like your heart isn’t beating at a thousand miles per hour. 

_ “Crocker.” _

Jake passes the hall. Notices you. You momentarily forget how to speak.

_ “Mr. Strider, you are there, right?” _

“Yeah, Jane. I’m here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was ASS to get out. next one will begin the confrontation with jane and things will like heat up and everything which. thatll be fun. but in the meantime heres this. not quite as slice of life as the other stuff but we need a plot sometimes. apologies for the shorter wordcount - my mental health has been a little fucky as of late AND my work hours have left me super exhausted. hopefully the next one doesnt take an entire month. seeyall then! comments and kudos are always appreciated and adored <3
> 
> for minor worldbuilding: dirk lives in upstate ny, human capitol is in chicago, carapacian capitol is in spain


	10. send my love a letterbomb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jane redemption arc now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "lets hope this wont take a month" i said. "itll be easy" i said. well. apparently not. anyway. jane redemption arc. i believe in her. only warning i can think of is that some of the dialogue is a little uncomfortable.

“Yeah, Jane. I’m here.”

The side hall is dark. Jake is silhouetted in the kitchen light. You still see his eyes go wide. You swallow and give him the gesture for ‘one minute, hold on, go,’ but he doesn’t move. You’re not sure he can.

 _“It’s been quite some time since we’ve last seen each other,”_ Jane says, _“You said you’d call.”_

“I’m afraid it slipped my mind.” Flat, neutral. Defensive. If anything, it’s how she’s used to hearing you sound. You haven’t broken eye contact with Jake. You can picture her in her high rise office, casually sitting in her comfortable desk chair, overlooking the city, twirling a landline cable despite her phone not needing one.

 _“And I thought you were the one with the perfect memory.”_ Her laugh is practiced. _Hahaha._ Jane never laughed like that.

“I’m getting old, Jane. Time just flies by.” 

_“Jake’s missed quite a few appointments lately. I hope you understand the stocks Skaianet’s been losing. Surely they’ll be bought out from under him in no time.”_ Upon hearing his name, Jake goes even stiller than before. 

_“Go,”_ you mouth, covering the receiver. He doesn’t. “I’m not sure if that’s a threat to me or him. I have no interest in business either way.”

_“Pity. I think you would have been good with the numbers aspect.”_

“If you wanted to talk to Jake, you could have called him.” Roxy appears by Jake’s shoulder. Jane laughs her practiced laugh again. 

_“I would have, but I’m afraid he has me blocked! It’s quite the shame, really.”_ There are quite a few things here that are shameful; Jake having blocked her isn’t. You hold your tongue. _“Anyway, Dirk, I was thinking we could get lunch. Talk about our mutual friend.”_

“I’m afraid I can’t. I’m on vacation at the moment.”

 _“As if we’re strangers to mixing business and pleasure.”_ Your skin crawls. You tighten your hold on your phone.

“You could at least try to treat him like a person,” you say, patience running thin.

 _“I do! And he’s the most attractive kind of person. Useless, handsome, easy to manipulate.”_ Jake tries to make himself smaller in his spot despite being the tallest in the room. It’s not rage that boils inside you, but it’s certainly something similar. 

“What do you want, Jane?” you demand, “If you just want to drive us away, you might as well start up a fucking car.” Jane laughs.

 _“You’ve always been so clever, Dirk. I miss our casual conversations.”_ She pauses, humming. _“I didn’t expect you to break so quickly. You’ve lost your touch.”_ It’s slowly getting brighter in the hallway, but no lights are on. Jake’s glowing again. You do your best to not breathe the golden fog in; he’s trying to keep you happy. It’s not working.

“Look,” you say through gritted teeth, “Give me a time and date if you want to meet up.”

 _“Think you can do lunch this Saturday?”_ You take a deep breath and let it out slowly. _“I’m sure my office will do just fine.”_

“Yeah, sure. Sounds good.” Are you shaking? You might be shaking. Your voice isn’t. You’re very good at that. “I’ll see you then.”

 _“See you then! Bring Jake, if you want. I’d love to see him again.”_ She hangs up before you can protest. Click.

* * *

You still try to enjoy your vacation. Keyword being try. You do your best to ignore the impending threat of your meeting with Jane. For the first time in a very long time, you go out to eat. You get sat down at a table and are given menus. No one really stares. No one tries to take a picture or declare their undying love and/or admiration for you or your boyfriend or your friend or their girlfriend.

It’s nice. It’s better than you expected. Not that your hopes were all too high to start, but it was good. And even with the lingering threat of visiting Jane, the rest of the week is just as good. You sightsee at various Carapacian tourist destinations, stop into the city for a brief shopping spree, and catch a movie. A real one. In a theater. Things don’t actually suck. Maybe you _should_ rejoin society.

You think that Jake’s influence might be keeping the week afloat, though. While he isn’t glancing around every minute to spot photographers and screaming fans the way you might be, the sheer lack of such makes you suspect he’s had a hand in that being the case. No one recognizes the quartet of gods unless one of you does something genuinely mystical. You don’t even notice the dwindling numbers of Dirks joining you.

You get buttery popcorn at the movies. 

Ten dollars a bucket and everything. 

You don’t remember what the film was about; it was Jake’s reactions and delight that you were more focused on. He raved to you about it on the ride home, even though you were sitting right next to him.

You help Callie in the garden. Roxy void-ifies Jake’s grandma’s cookbook, and the two of them make a nice soup. You stargaze. The stars are in similar patterns to that of old Earth, but they have different names.You point out the ones you recognize from your sleepless Atlantian nights, and Roxy makes up stories about the new ones. The one you recognize as Cassiopeia turns out to now be called ‘the Prince’s Crown.’ You’re not sure how you feel about that one, immortal being immortalized, but you can let it slide.

You wake up late on Saturday morning, and dread settles in your stomach immediately. Jake is still asleep, to your surprise. Bedhead to the extreme. You kiss his cheek as you slip out of the room and head towards the sound of frying food.

“Mornin’!” Roxy chirps as you come down the stairs. They’re cooking some sort of bacon alternative. It’s interesting. Earth C agrees that there are a set number of gods and a set of archetypes surrounding those gods, and there still manage to be different sects of religion. They could never do it when you were living apocalyptic, but keeping kosher ain’t too hard anymore. Plenty of people do it. “You’re lookin’ all sleepy-worried. I’m makin’ fake-on if you want it.”

“I’ll pass.” You wave them off. It smells good, but you don’t know if you can really eat right now. You sit. They give you a look.

“You’re meetin’ with Jane today,” they say, and it isn’t a question. 

“Yeah,” you sigh. They slide you a piece of fake-on. You take it. Eat it. Put your head on the table. They pat your back. “She’s fuckin’ evil now, Roxy. How am I supposed to fix that?”

“No one said you had to fix anything.” They turn off the stove and sit down next to you, and put their head on the table in what you assume to be solidarity. “That’s always your thing. Fixing stuff. Getting us to be better at fighting or less skeptical or whatever.” 

“Ughhhh,” you groan, “Don’t remind me.”

“Yeah, but you do. You _just_ said ‘how am I supposed to fix this.’ That means you think you gotta fix it by yourself. Like. We can go with you, dude.” Mother fuck. This is why Roxy was really the leader. It couldn’t be the rest of you with your stupid fuckin’ drama. Roxy was the only one with their head still on their shoulders, metaphorically and literally. You always wondered why you never thought of the things they did when it was always the most logical answer. You were so wrapped up in your own shit and it couldn’t see when the easy answer was staring you in the face. Talk it out. Tell him how you feel. Relax. “You don’t have to face her alone.”

“But I can’t--” You let out a frustrated sigh. “I can’t bring Jake there. I can’t do that to him.”

“If he wants to come, he can. Jake’s a big boy. He can make his own decisions.”

“It’s- it’s not that simple,” you huff, “He’s- he’s doing better now but he’s still _scared_ of her. I can’t just bring him there, even- even if he wants to go, it won’t go _well_.” Roxy sighs in return, propping their head up with an arm.

“You always tried to protect us. And you’re worried that if he comes with, you won’t be able to.”

“Bing bing bing.” You’d make a terrible game show host. No pep. 

“You do realize that he can make his own choice with this, though, right?” You turn your head to face them, a little confused. “Jake can make his own decisions. You might be trying to protect him, but when it comes down to it, it’s his choice whether he goes or not. Controlling what he does isn’t the way to go. If he wants to come with in order to support you, stopping him from coming isn’t going to help either of you.”

Control. Yeah. Alright. That’s always your thing. You don’t let it hurt you as much as you would have five years ago. It still hurts, though. It stings, as they remind you that you’re still a control freak, you’re still trying to get everyone to do what you want and make everything work right. This isn’t something you can control. _Jake_ isn’t some _one_ you can control. He’s an adult. He can make his own decisions. He’s fully able to defend himself. You don’t have to send a robot to protect him. It’s alright. 

“Yeah. Yeah. you’re right.” The countertop is cool against your forehead. They pat your back once and stand back up. “You think you’re gonna come with? Won’t be ‘til around dinner, anyway.”

“ _Duh._ That’s why I’m _offering,”_ they scoff, and you hear the stove click a few times, “Like your dumb ass could take your way out of a paper bag, anyway. Sheesh.” Spray, tap, crack, sizzle. A few minutes later an egg, sunny side up, is pushed in front of you. You eat.

You hear a soft, almost-English-accented voice say, “No! Get back here!” followed by the jingling of a bell and the opening of a door, and a lower, similarly accented voice say, “Oh! Hello there! Did you catch that yourself?” in that there-is-an-unexpected-cat-here-but-I-am-delighted tone. The bell jingles merrily down the stairs and a kitten with a bow tie in its mouth hops onto the chair next to you, sitting politely. Jake follows soon after.

He kisses your temple, gently takes the bow tie from the kitten, shoos it away, and sits down next to you.

“Good morning!” he says, chipper as always, “It seems I slept a bit late, hm? Can’t say I’m typically the latest riser!” He laughs, and it sounds genuine, but there’s something off about it. He just got up. You won’t hit him with the Jane thing unless he brings it up himself. The kitten meows insistently and jumps back onto his lap, climbing onto the counter and batting at his hand with a paw. “No, no, I’m afraid you can’t have this,” he tells it, and it meows again, “Calliope with be very upset if you ruin this, you know that.” The kitten squirms as he picks it up and sets it back on the floor. It nips his ankle and runs away. He laughs again.

You and Roxy exchange a glance. Play it cool. 

“You hungry? We got egg.” Roxy gestures at the stovetop.

“Egg? Don’t you mean eggs?”

“I know what I said.”

“Then I’ll have egg?” Jake says, and Roxy gets to work. You finish up your own food, and Jake scoots his chair a little closer to you. He rests his chin on your shoulder. “You’re nervous for later.”

Again. Not a question.

“Yeah.”

“Well, I… couldn’t help but listen in, earlier.” You flush with embarrassment as he pulls away, and it’s hard to say why, but-- “And I’ve decided I’m coming with you.”

You freeze, ice dripping down your spine.

“Jake, you don’t--” you protest, but he raises a hand to stop you.

“No, Dirk, I do. Facing my fears and all that.” You start to say something again, but he stops you. “The two of you were talking about changes you need to make for yourselves and not going it alone, and- well. I need to start acting for myself at some point, don’t I? Face my fears, stay in control. Technically we’re going because you need moral support - and boy can I provide that! - but me going with you means I also have backup so I can face Jane myself. It all makes sense, you know?” It does make sense, you’ll give him that. “So, I’m going with you. And there isn’t much you yourself can say to stop me. Me? Well, I may convince myself between now and whenever we’re leaving that I do not want to, in which case Calliope has promised to show me a creek nearby.”

“We don’t have to go until six,” you eventually murmur. He kisses your cheek.

“That’s the spirit.”

That leaves you with the whole day to dread it. It’s the last day of vacation, aren’t those always filled with dread? Knowing you have to pack, knowing you won’t be relaxing so much anymore, those few days were sheer bliss but now you’re off to do business things again. Ugh. And business things, in your case, refer to the texts you inevitably get at 5:45 that evening, as you try to enjoy your somewhat early dinner.

gutsyGumshoe [GG] began bothering timaeusTestified [TT]!

GG: Are we still on for lunch?   
GG: I’m about to go on my break, and would hate to lose any plans.   
TT: We are, yes.   
TT: Don’t feel the need to bring me food, though, I already ate.   
GG: Understood. See you then. I’ll send you the coordinates for the transportalizer at noon.   
TT: Be seeing you.

timaeusTestified [TT] ceased bothering gutsyGumshoe [GG]!

You lose your appetite. At least you were almost done. 

You help with the dishes and Roxy hangs on your shoulder like they aren’t several inches taller than you. Jake hums along to the radio. And at six on the dot, Jane sends you the coordinates. That feeling of dread settles in your stomach, threatening to choke you. You head to the transportalizer, heart hammering like your chest is some kind of construction site. You’re perfectly healthy, thanks, no need to build anything else.

Jake claps a hand on your shoulder. “Ready to go?” He looks far more confident about the whole situation than you. A whisper of golden fog escapes his mouth.

“Not at all,” you say, but step onto the pad regardless. Jake and Roxy crowd behind you, and Callie waves from the couch. You encrypt your location out of habit and punch the coordinates in. 

You realize once you’ve left that Roxy and Callie’s house smells faintly of warm vanilla - it’s only when the air squeezes around you and shunts you into something markedly filtered and cold that you truly take it in. You took the scent for granted, you think. The un-smell of the Crockercorp offices reminds you of the time Jane’s dad made you go to the eye doctor in the middle of the summer when you first came to 5000 NG; the building was air-conditioned to hell and back and you had to wear your hoodie the whole time while your eyes were numbed and dilated. Jane’s dad was very supportive, and it was discovered that you did, in fact, have a very slight ocular light sensitivity, but not strong enough to warrant shades any darker than you had already. Technically they didn’t warrant shades at all - just when it was super bright. Anyway. It smells like you’re waiting in the optometrist’s hallway again, with your hoodie pulled tight over your head and your eyes feeling slightly too big for your sockets. The drops are supposed to make you _not_ feel the shit they’re poking you with, but you were too aware of your eyes for that to fucking matter.The air is that same type of sterilized chill. Maybe a hint of drywall.

Roxy steps out first, most confident of your party. The leader. You step out next, hesitant. A fellow pioneer, but not the captain of the expedition. Jake doesn’t step out. You turn to him, and he’s doing that thing where he tries to make himself smaller again. He gives you a sheepish grin, chuckling softly.

“Change of heart?” you say, offering him a hand.

“I’m not sure?” Jake says, taking it, “I’m feeling like this is all a terrible idea.”

“Not too late to go back.” The out is there if he needs it. And he might need it. But… Jake shakes his head instead. Takes a deep breath. Goes back to his full height. You believe in him. If that’s worth anything. 

“No, no. We’ll do it. Face my fears. She’s just Jane, after all! The girl we were friends with and still are!” The shake in his voice betrays him, but there’s no golden fog. He’s not trying to make it true. You squeeze his hand and tug him away from the platform. 

The Human Capitol is bustling this time of day. From the high-rise office hallway, they look not like ants next to candy-bar cars, but more like toys. You could just pick them up. Drive them around. Put them someplace else. Control them. You don’t like how small they are from here. You and Jake keep walking, catching up to Roxy. 

They knock on Jane’s office door, three deliberate times. _Knock, knock, knock._

Muffled, “Enter.”

The door is unlocked.

Jane’s office overlooks the city in the same way the hallway does - floor to ceiling windows and a clear view of the skyline. Her desk sits in the center of the room, high-backed desk chair facing away from the door. To the right, couches and a small table. To the left, bookshelves. A house plant in the corner. The chair turns around in true supervillain fashion, revealing Jane. You can just picture her with a monocle and cat, cackling evilly. 

Jane looks good, for what it’s worth. As she stands, her heels make her look taller than she normally is. Maybe it’s the sharp makeup she wears or the way she holds herself, but she’s much more imposing than you’d expect. She looks older. More stern. 

She walks over to your group, looking each of you up and down. Her gaze lingers on Jake too long for your comfort. You clear your throat, and she gives you a practiced smile with nothing behind the eyes.

“So glad you could join me, Mr. Strider,” she says cordially. You shove your hands in your pockets and shrug. The picture of cool. Casual. Unaffected. “And you brought guests. How nice, to get everyone back together.” She nods at the other two in greeting. “Jake. Roxy.”

“Thought gettin’ everyone back together would make for a fun afternoon,” you say, subtly standing in front of Jake as you do.

“Shall we sit?” Her smile finally strikes something weird into your heart. This is Jane. And yet… and yet she smiles at you like an angler fish about to eat her prey. Like she’ll attack at any second and you have no real way to get out of there. She leads you to the couches and sits in a solitary armchair, back straight, ankles crossed, hands in her lap. The picture of poise. You and Jake sit across from her, Roxy to the side. Jake takes your hand, and you don’t miss how Jane’s lip curls. “So. Dirk. Let’s catch up. It’s been some time. How are you?”

“Oh, you know,” you say, “Been fine. Working on projects. Livin’ out in the country. Nothing huge. Yourself?”

“Just fine.” Jane doesn’t fidget. Not in the way that you do. “Sales have been dropping with the--” She glances at Jake; he flinches. “--lack of Creator-oriented photoshoots, but Skaianet’s technology partnership has been helping to pick up the slack.” 

“Nothing you couldn’t easily make back,” you venture, and she laughs, lifting a hand to cover her red-lipstick smile.

“Oh, of course.”

Everything about her is red and black, you notice. Sharp red blazer over a form-fitting black dress; sheer black tights and red heels. Black hair, red glasses. Her eyes are still blue. All of her accessories are red, too - earrings, the ring on her finger, her watch, the stylish headband keeping her hair back. It seems like a trick of the light at first, sunlight catching on a beveled part of the earring, before you realize that it’s not possible. The smallest pinprick of light is shining out of Jane’s earring. Out of both of them. It reminds you of the light that came off the Crockercorp mixing spoon she gave you once while baking - it whispered the directions to you and when you missed some, started to get mad. Jane left you for only a moment, but the little propaganda machine had already started telling you to obey by the time she got back. You snapped out of it, and she apologized profusely.

_Jane’s robes are red, skin paper white, sclera black. Her tiaratop blinks red as she snarls at Jake with the least amount of remorse possible. It’s a good thing he’s so hot, she says, even though he’s crying like he isn’t some six feet tall. You’re surprised when she doesn’t slap him. You’re surprised when she just walks away._

Her tiaratop. 

“That’s a nice ring you have there, Jane. May I see it?” you ask, leaning forward. She extends her arm - the red jewel glitters on her finger like a drop of crystalline blood.

“It was a gift from my grandmother,” she says with pride, “All of the accessories are. I was set to inherit them once I took over the company.”

“I see…” You take her hand and examine the ring. No lights. It’s normal. Her hand is soft. You look up to meet her eyes. “They’re exquisite.”

“Relics from the old world. You know how it is.” She withdraws her hand and laughs (you give a polite chuckle in response), and you think it might be working. She settles back in her chair. “I sometimes miss it, you know? Our Earth.” She still looks like a shark, but one that won’t eat you right away. One that’s curious. “Though, I must say, the attempts on my life have certainly diminished now that the people know I can’t exactly be killed.”

“Mhm, sure…” you trail off, and now is when you enact your plan. The thing about being you is that you’re probably the coolest person ever. You have so many skills, being a god is like, only one of them. The thing you’ve always been able to do, and the thing you’re doing now, is flashstepping. It’s almost like teleportation, you suppose, with how the air sucks around to fill in the space you left. Anyway. You flashstep towards Jane before she can react, grabbing her headband off her head. No tangle. Nice. You grab the earrings too, your motions too fast for her to do anything about but precise enough that she doesn’t get hurt. You’re back in your seat before she can blink.

Immediately sound explodes back around you like you’re finally remembering how to exist with normal speeds again. Jane, Jake, and Roxy all flinch back in their seats in a cacophony of “Woah!” “What the--” “Crikey!” and you sit, perfectly still, the headband and earrings in your hand. Everyone catches their breath. Jane is the first to recover - she fixes her hair and squares you with a look of disdain. 

“What was the meaning of that, Dirk?” she says coldly, “I’d appreciate it if you gave me my accessories back. Personal theft is no laughing matter. I’d prefer not to call security on a dear friend.”

You probably look fucking stupid right now. Nothing about Jane has changed. Her posture is the same, her eyes haven’t lost any malevolent spark, she’s still glaring at you. What the hell.

“That was--” you start, “That was supposed to work. You’re supposed to lose the mind control jewelry and not be evil anymore. You’re supposed to snap out of it now.” You look to Roxy and Jake for backup, and they look almost as bewildered at your explanation as you are about the results. 

“Mind control jewelry? Dirk, that’s preposterous,” Jane snaps, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms, “I thought you were over the entire ‘Crockercorp is evil, the Batterwitch is going to destroy Earth’ nonsense. A bit juvenile, isn’t it?”

“She did that, though.” Finally, someone backs you up. And Roxy gets it. They lived in the same world you did. “She literally did that. Killed literally everyone on Earth.” Jane scoffs, rolling her eyes again.

“And yet the two of you are here. Clearly she didn’t do a very good job.” You hate this. Her tone. She’s the youngest out of all of you and so fucking condescending. Taking after her grandmother. Roxy starts to argue. Jane argues back. You tune it out as Jake takes an earring from your hand and lifts it up to his ear. You raise an eyebrow. He offers you the earring and you can hear, clear as day, the instructions coming through it.

_Obey. Cease reproduction. Obey. Promote the Crockercorp name. Obey. Eliminate threats. Obey._

You take the earring back and quietly, oh so quietly while Jane and Roxy nearly start shouting, pop them into your sylladex. You’ll deal with it later.

“I think what Dirk is trying to say,” Jake says, letting his voice carry; Jane and Roxy stop and look at him, “Is that we’re all a little concerned about your behavior, Janey. You’re not acting like yourself.”

“People change.” Jane waves her hand dismissively. “We’re not children anymore, we can’t expect one another to stay the same all the time.” She fixes him a hard glare; he cringes. The plant in the corner starts to wither. “Not that you’ve changed all too much. Still a sniveling little coward.” 

“This is what we mean,” Roxy interrupts, leaning forward, “This isn’t, y’know, right. You used to be skeptical, now you’re just fucking mean. Like this mind control shit actually changed somethin’ in you.”

“If you’re asking, I don’t want the old Jane back at all,” you say. She looks up, surprised. “I’d rather have a Jane who gets to learn from her mistakes.”

“Oh-ho-ho,” Jane sneers, “I’ve learned from my mistakes alright. Holding onto hopes and trying to win over the hearts of silly boys with little more than stuffing between their ears. We’re adults, Dirk. We can let go of each other, now. Once I’m in office, things will be better. I’ll change things up around here. Make it run smoother.”

“And when is it you plan to run,” you say flatly.

“In two years. Next Human Municipality elections.”

“You mean the election you have to be at least thirty to run in? The one where you need a political science degree to even _think_ about being a candidate?” Jane’s face flushes, embarrassment clear.

“I- I’m going to run, Dirk,” she sputters, “I’m a _god_ , damn it! Who’s going to stop me!”

“You have a high school education, Jane. What changes could you realistically make.”

“Why don’t you wait two years and see? That’ll make it all better, won’t it!” Jane stands up, red in the face but not as vibrant as her jacket. The plant in the corner is dead. Brown stem, leaves shriveled up. “Just give it some time!” 

“Sit down,” you say coolly. Jane seems to realize her surroundings again. She sits. Mortified. “You’re out of your depth, Jane. You’re twenty-one. You can take a break. I think I speak for all of us when I say we need one.”

Jane takes a deep breath. Slumps back in her chair. 

“I’ll need some time to think about it,” she says, head in one hand, “I’m not… agreeing or anything. But I need some time to think. It’s… probably unhealthy--” She lets out a weak little _ha, ha,_ getting quieter as she goes _._ “--for a twenty-one-year-old to be obsessing over the success of a multimillion dollar company.”

Roxy stands and goes over to Jane’s chair, perching on the arm. They take Jane’s hand and squeeze it, smiling when she looks up. 

“Heya, Janey,” they say.

“Hi, Roxy,” Jane sighs. You watch her squeeze Roxy’s hand back. “I- I have a meeting in fifteen minutes. We can talk about this later.” She glances up at Jake and something seems to click. There’s a sorrow in her eyes that you didn’t expect. “We can talk about this later.”

“Of course,” Jake says softly.

You file out of Jane’s office a few minutes later. She fixes her hair and coaxes the plant in the corner back to life. Roxy gives her a hug. She gives you a stoic head nod, and gets that same sorrowful look at Jake. Maybe it’s not sorrow. Maybe it’s apologeticness. You’ve never been the best at reading facial expressions. 

Jake doesn’t cry when you get back to the guest room at Roxy’s house. He lays with you, pulled close. Doesn’t say much. You fall asleep like that, thinking. 

* * *

When you dream, you find yourself in a flat-lit space, standing at the head of a table. All heads turn as you realize where you are, and all of the faces are your own.

"Oh. He’s here,” says the one that is your identical mirror image.

"'Bout time,” says the tallest one.

"He didn't know we were doing this, he didn't know where he could find us. Shush,” says the one in the godtier robes.

You look around the circle. Every single person at the table is recognizably you, with cosmetic differences. You in glasses and a sweater vest, you in shades and a cap, you but a robot. Okay. The one that is definitely straight up just you seems to be leading. 

"Take a seat,” he says, and you sit in a chair that was not there previously. This is definitely a dream. He slides a file folder not previously in his hand across a table not previously there. All the other Dirks are sitting as well. You can’t read the files, but each one has a photograph of a Dirk sitting before you, and what you think might be basic information. It’s a dream. Reading in dreams isn’t easy.

You look back up at your double, and he’s no longer a mirror image. He’s a little taller, his hair a very light brown instead of blond. Weird. 

“So, we wanted you to meet us,” he says, and you know he has to be you because he’s so damn awkward about it, “All of us, as we are now. Uh.” He looks around at the others for a moment, but no one says anything. “I’ll start, then. I’m Dirk Strider. Stock standard. The ones that are you. This includes Dirks who grew up post-Condesce, the ones who lived pre-Condesce, the Alternian ones, the ones who never played SBURB for one reason or another, and ones who lived on regular Earth with no SBURB ever existing.” He looks expectantly around the table for someone to go next.

“Ugh, fine,” says the tallest one. He’s wearing shades, but you know he’s rolling his eyes. “I’m Bro. All of ‘em. Anyone that came before a version of Dave. Good ones and the shitty ones. 100% pure Texas beef.” You… don’t know how much you like that. He must notice. “Hey, don’ gimme that face. S’better than havin’ ‘em all rollin’ around with no supervision.”

“We’ll get to that. We need to introduce ourselves first, before that,” Dirk says. He nods at a younger-looking Dirk, the one in the godtier robes. “Ghost, how about you?”

“Well, he just said it. I’m Ghost,” Ghost says. He looks about sixteen, but every so often you catch a glimpse of an older you in his slightly flickering form. “If there’s a Jake English, there’s a Brain Ghost Dirk. Easy.” …..Yeah. Easy.

“I’m you every time you try to deny it,” says a splinter you didn’t previously spot. Your heart sinks when you realize it’s Hal, with the paper white skin and matching hair, and the skintight body suit. “Don’t give me the disappointed eyes, sheesh. I thought you liked me.”

“I thought you were your own person,” you say before you can stop yourself.

“Yeah, well.” Hal huffs, crossing his arms. “So did I.”

“You _are_ ,” Dirk cuts in, and when you look at him this time he’s a bronzeblooded troll, “You’re your own person, but part of your soul is still Dirk’s. So you’re in here with the rest of us.” There’s a quick glance around the group, and a growl sounds in the distance.

“Anyway,” Hal continues, “I’m here, and the bots are here too.” He points at the you that’s clearly Brobot. “He can’t talk. No mouth. Kind of a design flaw, in my opinion. He’s Brobot and Lil Sebastian. Saw and Square were entirely robotic, so. They’re not here.” O...kay? Okay. Sure. 

“What about you?” you say, looking at the sweater vest Dirk. He laughs sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“It kind of depends on the day?” he says, baby blue eyes meeting yours, “Dirks Crocker, English, Lalonde, Lalonde, Harley, Egbert, and, uh, Strider! at your service.” He taps his temple with each name, cycling through versions of himself like a character select menu. Baby blue, forest green, hot pink, purple, light green, dark blue, red. His outfit changes with each one, as well. He switches back to being Dirk Crocker. “We’re not exactly you, but y’know! Same essence.” You don’t understand this at all.

There’s a sound like thunder behind you, and as you turn around, another Dirk arrives. Tall, built, cap, shades, polo. No discernible wounds or causes of death. Bro gets up from his seat and gives the guy a pat on the back, and where there were once two Bros there is only one. 

“Oh,” you say.

“Yeah,” says Bro, cracking his neck. He sits back down. 

“So, yeah,” Dirk says, “We’re doing that.”

“Of course,” you say, as if it makes sense. Dream logic? Is this a dream? Is it real? Is this what your _soul_ looks like on the inside? If so, it’s fucking boring. There’s a deep growl again from deep within the dreamspace. “...What about that.” The splinters share another pained look.

“Trash bin,” Ghost eventually says, “Shitty ones go where we can’t see ‘em.”

“Or get incinerated!” Crocker chirps, “The worst ones don’t get a chance to stick around.”

This is all a lot to take in. You pinch the bridge of your nose and try to consider everything. So they’re… consolidating. Okay. It’s a committee, instead of an ocean. You can manage that. _They_ can manage it. 

“Any questions?” Dirk says, and while you have so many, you can also feel your physical body moving around in the real world.

“I don’t think so?”

“Great. Glad we could all meet. We should do this again sometime, right, gentlemen?” The other splinters don’t seem to react much to Dirk’s enthusiasm. Well. He’s trying. “See you around, Dirk! We’ve got it handled over here.”

It’s relief you didn’t know you needed until you wake up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bad and naughty splinters get put in the soul wiggler for their crimes.  
> my (21M) splinters (21M), (30M), (16M), (8Robot), (21M) have unionized
> 
> next time: group therapy jesus fucking hell
> 
> anyway! i wont make promises about update times but im definitely doing it. its still being written. id say i have like 3 chapters left? well see. may also be updating documentation, may have a oneshot on the way, and began work on a princess bride au? well see. 
> 
> as always, i live for comments and kudos, and an enormous thank you for everyone who left a comment! the emails always make my day <3


	11. she had enough (and he's had plenty)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lunch with jane, and the effects of having too many souls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slight warning for depression and a little bit of a derealization episode? but like. in the framework of the ultimate self?

You leave Roxy and Callie’s house the next afternoon after a small lunch, light and early enough that the time difference won’t fuck you up too bad. You leave with promises to see each other again soon, to call, to make sure to keep in touch. If anything, the Creators’ luncheon is in October. Worst case scenario, you wait two months.

Getting home is a relief, as well. Finally. You leave behind the warm vanilla smell of Roxy and Callie’s place for the mountain air and lemon-clean linoleum of your own. You suppose this is what coming home from vacation should feel like - being glad you’re home, tossing your suitcases aside, flumping down on your still-made bed. Exhaustion, but it doesn’t suck. It’s almost fun. 

Jake gets up eventually, shuffling around your room to put your clothes away. You track him with your eyes, and every so often he’ll catch you looking at him. Smiles at you. Blushes a little. Keeps putting things back where they belong. Slots himself into your space when he’s done.

“I can cook if you want me to,” you say quietly, and Jake bumps his forehead against yours.

“Nonsense. We’ll order in. We’ve had quite the last forty-eight hours, we deserve it.”

You wind up ordering from the noodle place in town, soup and dumplings and vegetables in far too much sauce. You do have to cross out the peanut butter noodles from your typical order, though. A small price to pay for getting Jake back. Saves you a whole $6.25, too. You forgo the table and wind up eating on a blanket placed on the floor, like a picnic. Jake steals a dumpling and you steal a piece of broccoli right back. If things in your life were easier, this might have been your happy ending. Reconciling with friends, happy with your boyfriend, your own problems temporarily solved. You’d have a gentle acoustic guitar play over a montage of you being cute. 

But it’s not that easy. It never has been. That’s okay, though. You’re human. 

Shit. 

You’re so fucking human.

Of course, this means your friends are human, too. Not everyone on the planet by any means, there are trolls and carapacians and consorts, but your three close friends are incredibly human the same way you are. They may have increased healing speeds, conditional immortality, the power of flight, and specialized abilities relating to their inherent traits, but they’re human. They have human bodies and experience human emotions. 

This causes you some stress. Them being human means their human bodies can’t exactly… process their godhood. Not the way you inherently could. Your abilities mean that any extra souls that zoom into your body are inherently going to figure their shit out so long as you will it, but the same thing won’t happen automatically for someone whose thing  _ isn’t  _ souls. 

There’s one night where Jake, usually the heavy sleeper, jostles you awake in his haste to get out of bed. Still only in his pajamas, not even wearing his glasses, he starts putting clothing that previously was not in your room into a suitcase that was not there either. You turn on a lamp and see him pick up a pair of slacks from thin air. It’s fascinating to actually watch him manifest something, to see his intent materialize from his hand where he’s expecting it. You watch as the slacks - sensible, black, exact to his measurements when you check later - make themselves from where he grabs them. The thread knits itself together as he picks it up, and the garment is completely formed by the time he stuffs it in the snakeskin suitcase. 

“Jake?”

He turns and seems to see you. He definitely sees that you’re a person, partially unclothed, holding bedsheets to your chest and catching him in an escape. He’s not seeing that you’re  _ you _ . You’re increasingly certain that he’s not  _ him. _

“Oh, bugger,” he mutters, speaking in a lower register than normal, “You weren’t supposed to wake up. I didn’t even have time to write a note.” He shakes his head, picking up a handkerchief - a handkerchief? - from the floor and in the lamplight you can see the letters  _ J.H.  _ embroidered in green in the corner. “It’s been fun, dear, truly, but I’m not meant to be here and we both know it. My plane is leaving in just a few hours.” His face softens for a moment, and he looks truly apologetic. You almost lose yourself in whatever scene he’s seeing as he cups your cheek and says, “I am sorry, for what it’s worth. You’re the loveliest thing this side of the Pacific.” 

You blink a few times and press your hand to his, keeping him there for the moment. It’s a ploy, though. You place your hand over his and time briefly stops as you allow your souls to reach out to his. Jake’s always had his fondness for movies - it’s almost like that little animated thing about the troll girl who moves to the new town and her emotions are all personified. Where your inner soul was, apparently, some fuckin’ boring office table in the middle of infinity, Jake’s is a control room. Panels with buttons, futuristic technology, a giant screen looking out at what he’s seeing. There’s old fashioned furniture everywhere, strewn about like a tornado blew through. The furniture is blocking the control room doors. There is a pounding on the doors, and distant shouting. Several someones are trying to get in.

And in the center, an older gentleman is mashing buttons on the console and trying to figure out why everything has stopped. Your face is on the screen. You clear your throat and the older gentleman looks up.

“How did you get in here? I thought I’d secured those doors tight!” You’d put him somewhere in his early-to-mid fifties, black hair starting to go silver, handlebar moustache in a similar state. He’s in a white button-down shirt and khaki slacks, and his black bowtie hangs around his neck. He’s definitely Jake, just… not your Jake. He looks from you to the screen and back to you. “Wh--”

“No time,” you say. It’s a dreamspace/soulspace/mindpalace thing, and the rules follow suit; you vanish from beside him and reappear by the doors, making each dresser vanish at your touch Countless Jakes, young, old, somewhere in the middle, human, not human, spill through, pushing each other and filling the room in a matter of seconds. Some of them seem to recognize you, calling out your name. You float towards the ceiling of the control room as the sea of Jakes wrestle control back from Harley and all turn to stare at you. Whoops. 

It takes forever to get them organized enough to consolidate. You show the few in Heart aspect robes how to condense the types together. You see Jake Strider in the crowd, and have to keep your inner Dirk English back. Only once you’re sure they can take care of it, you will your soul back into your body, back into your three-in-the-morning bedroom with the lamp on. 

Jake tries to pull his hand out of yours, but you hold it tight until his eyes focus back in on you. He looks around the room, at you on the bed, at the manifested suitcase and manifested clothes, and takes a seat. You hand him his glasses. 

“Well,” he announces, resigned, “That was. Unpleasant.” You put your arm around him and rub his shoulder; he allows himself to sag against you.

“Do you remember anything?” Would it be easier to tell him he was sleepwalking? Or would he remember having his control taken away in what looked like a thought out scuffle? You’re still surprised you didn’t see any surplus Jakes scattered around the control room in various degrees of indisposedness.

“I was… on a business trip, I believe. Houston area.” Jake presses his eyes, rubbing at them. “Skaianet tech conference. I saw parts of the conference but didn’t understand much of anything. Dreams just work that way.” You both know it wasn’t a dream. “And- ugh. My wife, I had a wife, but he didn’t know that, he was just a brilliant upstart in the tech sphere and--” He sighs, resting his head on your shoulder. “And now I’m awake and hoping my wife won’t find out. I’m not married, Dirk. I don’t  _ have  _ a wife.”

“Feeling alright otherwise?” you ask, “Pretty vivid dream, if it left you this shaken up.”

“I’m still caught up in the emotions of a passionate one-night stand with a young engineer from Texas,” he groans, “Just… give me a moment to process.” You stay sitting there, rubbing his shoulder and handing him a tissue when he asks. His souls feel quieter. More orderly. 

“Got to see your powers in action,” you say after seven minutes, forty-seven seconds. You gesture over to the snakeskin suitcase still open on the floor. “One hell of a thing to study, in my opinion.” Jake gives a weak laugh, blowing his nose. 

“I’ve done it before. Woken up with things in my room that were not there previously.” He balls up the tissue and misses the trash can by a foot. “Dream-me was so convinced they existed, I suppose. I haven’t sleepwalked like that in ages.”

He doesn’t bring up any other things you may have done to calm the wild Jake Harley at the helm, nor do you bring up how the inside of his brain was awfully reminiscent of a wildly emotional children's movie. He doesn’t have another episode like that.

* * *

August goes out with little fanfare. It’s still humid, but the evenings start to cool off. You don’t hear from Jane personally. Looking up her name shows a news article stating that she’s thinking of naming an heir. Roxy texts you constantly, photos of cats and Callie and flowers and memes they thought you’d like. You design Hal’s chassis and deconstruct the Crockercorp jewelry in your free time.

You call Dave. It’s worse than calling Roxy was. You’re pretty sure Dave hates you.

He doesn’t.

Mid-September, a month and change before the Creators’ luncheon, Jane invites you and Jake to a get-together. A small lunch. You, Jake, Roxy, Jane, and Callie, all at Jane’s dad’s place. John might even show up, if he comes downstairs for long enough. She warns you to bring a hoodie; the Human Capitol always gets colder faster. She sends you direct coordinates to her personal transportalizer, no need for “all those silly photographers in the city center, after all!” 

Once again there is no fanfare. There’s just the sound of bacon sizzling, Jane’s dad looking up from the stove, and him smiling at the two of you warmly, saying, “Ah, there you are.” He looks like John. The lines around his eyes are a little deeper since the last time you saw him. His hair is a little greyer. You appreciate the lack of fanfare. It almost feels like it did right after the game ended, when you could all just be (socially inept, incredibly traumatized) kids.

Roxy and Callie are already there, chatting away with Jane. Roxy and Callie look the same as the last time you saw them. Jane looks younger. She’s in a t-shirt and jeans and isn’t wearing any makeup. They all look up when you and Jake arrive, reactions varying. Roxy breaks into a broad grin, waving excitedly; Callie gives a smaller, more reserved smile, but looks just as happy to see you; Jane forces herself to look relaxed, looking the two of you over. At your side, Jake stiffens. The tension is tangible to you, like you could pick it up with your hands and toss it into the trash. If only. 

“Dirk!! There you are!” Roxy doesn’t lose their enthusiasm, thankfully. They get up and drag you and, with his hand still in yours, Jake, to the table. You take the chair to their right, Jake takes the chair to yours. With seven places set, this puts him two seats from Jane. It’s space. It’s space, which makes it okay. It means she can’t get to him. She won’t, and you won’t let her. She looks sorry, but it’s not genuine. That hurt on her face can’t possibly be-- You steady yourself. Jake’s an adult. Jake can fight his own battles. This isn’t your fight, and you will not get into it if you don’t need to. If he needs backup, he will ask. 

It’s a little astounding how much of this is in your head. Time isn’t passing like the way your thoughts are. Your mind’s eye shows Jane hissing like a cartoon demon in Jake’s direction and Jake jumping back like a frightened cartoon cat. It shows her coldly glowering at him and faking all her apologies. It shows him cowering away and flinching every time she looks in his direction. It’s very likely that the part of your soul that resides in Jake’s mind and the part of his mind that resides in your soul is coloring your perception. Brain Ghost Dirk recalls all the things Jane said to him in that Derse prison the same way Jake does, with hints of your and Hal’s snark thrown in. Are you becoming a possessive bastard, too? You’d better not be. Jake’s an adult. He can do this himself. All of those thoughts, that possessiveness, that doubt in her intentions and in Jake’s ability to stand up for himself, that’s not you. Is it? That’s not you. That’s all the pieces of you inventing this shit inside your overactive imagination. You aren’t even being weird and staring blankly as everyone talks, this is happening in split seconds as neurons fire and create scenarios that are not happening and you need to remember that, because you could just act out at any second and ruin this actually very nice moment. All of this worry exists in the boring blank office space of your brain. 

In reality, you sit down and Roxy fills you in on the conversation they were having, how catching up has been such a struggle lately with the time zone differences, how getting older makes it so hard to keep in touch and how that fucking suuuuucks. Jane offers Jake a smile and Jake takes the peace offering. Jane’s dad brings a loaf of bread and a plate of sandwich ingredients to the table. He goes to the stairs and calls for John. You don’t hear a response.

The rest of lunch goes off without a hitch. Jane’s dad sits beside her, leaving a seat empty between him and Jake for John, should he ever come down. He does, eventually, long after the bacon has gone cold and everything else has reached room temperature. He builds a sandwich, appraises the group, manages a genuine smile in Jake’s direction, and heads back upstairs. Jane’s dad shakes his head and continues to load the dishwasher. In a moment where the other three have left the table, you move to sit beside Jane and take the Crockercorp jewelry out of your sylladex. They shouldn’t look any different than they did before. They’re just earrings and a headband. Earrings and a headband without neural links, speakers, or propaganda being spewed from them. 

“I meant to give these back a little while ago,” you say, offering her the accessories. She reaches out slowly, taking them and putting them away in her own sylladex. She’s wearing earrings now, you notice, little cyan stones that match her eyes. She looks young. She looks twenty-one. Your heart aches and you can’t place the feeling. 

“Thanks,” she says, still looking at your hands. She sighs. Looks up at you. “I wasn’t really going to call security on you. That was a bluff. Sorry.”  _ Do you forgive me?  _ her eyes say.

“I did kind of steal them right off you, though. You’d have been in every right.”  _ I’m not the one you need to apologize to,  _ the shrug of your shoulders replies. Jane nods and gets up from the table like it hurts. You watch her as she taps Jake’s arm; he reflexively flinches in surprise, but then realizes the person getting his attention only comes up to his shoulder. Just Jane. He glances back at you and you get up, but only to take over where he’s putting things away. She leads him into the living room. They sit on the couch. You position yourself in such a way that you can still watch them, but they’re speaking too quietly for you to hear. 

Jake’s posture is uneasy, formal, hands in his lap, back straight, knees touching, feet on the floor. Jane keeps her stance open. One hand on the couch between them. Not caging him in. He can escape if he needs to. She says her piece. You don’t know what point in time she starts from or when she ends. Does she start from having a crush on him at fifteen?  ~~ You ~~ Brobot ripped  ~~ your ~~ his heart out crushed it to bits when they had that conversation. Jake didn’t want to know she had a crush the same way he didn’t want to know you did, which is to say he fully knew and didn’t want it to come up ever. If it didn’t come up he wouldn’t have to deal with it. Does she start from going trickster and trying to marry him in the sugar-high state? Does she start at going godtier and the conversation she had with you? At the mind control? At the Derse prison? At his first photoshoot? At his last? You don’t know. You won’t know. 

Jane talks with her hands, but not in the same way that Jake does. She uses them to emphasize a point or show she doesn’t mean harm. Palms up like surrender. Jake incrementally starts to relax. He nods along as she talks. Neither of them are getting particularly emotional, from what you can tell. She says something and you see the faintest outline of golden glow around Jake. He takes a deep breath. The glow vanishes. He starts to do more of the talking. His side of the story, maybe. How he felt. You put finish putting everything away. Mr. Crocker starts the dishwasher and you, Roxy, and Callie sit back down at the table. Roxy pulls a deck of cards from thin air and you start to play a game. Jane looks up. Catches you watching them. You look away, but you can’t  _ stay  _ looking away. You see her say something and Jake tense back up. She looks apologetic. She’s sorry. She wasn’t herself, but that doesn’t excuse what she did or said. He’s not sure how to take it, but he does. He hugs her. She hugs him back. You watch as his chest catches. She holds him closer. They part after a moment; Jake wipes his eyes. 

They both stand, and join you at the table.

* * *

“Alright, I need you to hear me out on something.”

The five of you are sitting on the floor in Jane’s room, and Roxy is braiding what they can of your hair. Across from you, leaning against the bed, Jane raises an eyebrow.

“What kind of something?”

“A soul something. Y’know. My whole deal.” Callie looks up, tilting her head like a confused cat. She always knew about godtier stuff. Spoilers. 

“Oh, yes, this,” Jake says, from where he’s lying stomach-down on the floor. His head is propped up on an elbow. He looks like a teenager at a slumber party. 

“Have either of you--” You look at Jane and Roxy. “--had any weird dreams lately? Dreams that seem a little too real to have entirely been invented, almost like memories?” Roxy pauses their braiding and hums. Jane thinks for a moment. “If you haven’t, it’s cool, I just wanted to check,” you quickly finish, and you feel Roxy shake their head.

“Nah, I know what you mean. Been havin’ dreams about bein’ some hot scientist lady in a lab coat dress. An’ sometimes I’m babysittin’ kids in a bigass house? Like. I-D-K whose kids they are but they’re there.” Jane and Jake both seem to recognize this. Jake especially. They’re probably his alternate self’s kids, thinking about it. “I’m guessin’ this has to do with you gettin’ joined by your alternate selves, too.” 

“Hold on, hold on, I think I’m lost,” Jane interrupts, shaking her head, “How would you know if we’ve been having these dreams? And what’s this about alternate selves? I’m not sure I understand what you’re talking about.” Between your and Jake’s firsthand experience, Roxy’s understandings of what you told them, and Callie’s encyclopedic knowledge of what happens when you godtier, you manage to get the gist across. Jane looks worried by the whole thing, but seems to understand. “...I have been having a few odd dreams,” she admits when you’re done, “I didn’t think much of them, but I suppose them being real memories makes sense.”

“I think I’ve figured out a way to stabilize it, is the thing,” you say, “This is going to sound a little out there, but if I reach my soul out to someone else’s, I can feel interact with all the other souls in your body? And start the process of getting the alternate selves to become less scattered. Stabilizing them, if you will. Trading a hundred one-boonbuck coins for one one-hundred-boonbuck coin.” Jane slowly nods, and Roxy makes a face. “What, does the metaphor not work?”

“No, no…” they say, mind clearly elsewhere, “It’s just occurrin’ to me that you were dealin’ with this longer. Been aware of it. Kinda fucked up you were dealin’ with it on your own.” You chuckle, but there’s no mirth behind it.

“I’ve dealt with a lot of things on my own, and it’s been fucked up every time.” The room is quiet. Roxy looks at you sadly, and you feel your face start to heat up. Are you getting embarrassed? For admitting that you’re not the most well adjusted guy? Jesus. “Anyway,” you say, brushing the awkwardness aside, “If you want me to check that your guys’ souls aren’t running amok, I can. Did it for Jake by accident. Just to get everything under control if it needs to be.”

“Why not.” Roxy huffs out a laugh, breaking the tension. “Won’t be any weirder than pulling a troll egg from spacetime itself.” That’s the spirit.

You take Roxy’s hand, link your fingers together (“Ooh, Mr. Strider, you cad.”), and focus on their soul. You reach out and when you open your eyes, you’re in a Carapacian cafe. The decor suggests Earths A and B France the way Earth C’s Carapace Kingdom does. There are no carpacians around. There are plenty of Roxys. You see Roxys of all ages, heights, hair styles, genders, and ethnicities scattered around the cafe. Some are at tables chatting, some are making drinks at the counter, some are gathered around what looks like a stage as a Roxy performs beat poetry. They’re all… getting along. Huh. You almost feel bad about disrupting what they have going on.

They take to the news fairly well. The categories of Roxy don’t seem as clear cut as they were with you, but they assure you that they can take care of it. You demonstrate how to condense the souls, and the Heart players take over soon enough. The cafe gets smaller as the number of Roxys reduce, soon turning into what appears to be just a large kitchen. Alright. Sure. 

When you come back out, only a few seconds have passed. Roxy’s shoulders slump.

“Wha-a-at the fuck?” they say between incredulous laughs, “That’s what that fuckin’ was? My souls gettin’ too heavy? Thought I was fuckin’ sick or something. Wow.” They pat their chest a few times and crack their neck. “Wild. Janey, you gotta try this.”

Jane looks skeptical, but you do the same for her. You place your hand over hers and reach out. Jane’s soulspace is very different from Roxy’s. The Janes are milling about, but they’re also separated by those seatbelt barrier things they put in government buildings and banks to keep everyone in line. A few Janes are shouting directions and trying to keep the group calm. There’s one that appears to be in charge, at a podium near the front and she looks so relieved to see you.

“There you are, goodness, do you know how difficult keeping them in line has been?” she says, and you blink, startled, “Well?” 

“Well, what?”

“Are you going to get to fixing it?” She gestures to the sea of Janes before you. “They’re already grouped up, but we just couldn’t-- get them to cooperate.” She taps a microphone on the podium, getting their attention. “Can any Heart players please step forward? Thank you.”

A few Janes in Heart aspect robes come to the front. It’s a good thing they had enough sense to group up, you suppose. Keep everything under control while the Prime Jane, apparently piloting the body behind a clearly labeled door, is left alone. It makes it all the easier to show the Heart Janes how to condense souls when the groups are right there and ready to go. They get one group, all the old lady Janes, down to one body, and inform you that they can take it from there. They point to an exit door. You show yourself out.

Jane is just as relieved as Roxy when you come back to reality. She says, “And I thought that was the stress from work giving me those headaches.”

You offer your hand towards Callie, and she shakes her head. She holds up one hand, the one with the Ring of Life on it, and says, “No need. It’s just me in here.” It’s quiet for a moment. Conversation doesn’t return to what it had been before, so it’s quiet.

“Do you think…?” Jane starts, breaking that quiet, but she doesn’t continue. You give her a look and she nods her chin at the door. Oh. Right. 

“I’ll see if he’s receptive. He might not be.”

You untangle yourself from Roxy and leave the room. John’s door is unmarked, but it’s also the only one on the floor that’s closed. You knock.

“I’m not gonna come down for cards, if that’s what you’re asking.” John’s voice comes out muffled.

“It’s Dirk,” you say, “I want to ask you something.” You hear the sound of blankets rustling and footsteps dragging to the door. John opens it and doesn’t look happy. His hair is messy and he’s in pajamas. All the curtains in the room are drawn, and his laptop is open on the bed. His glower is intimidating, especially from a guy only slightly shorter than Jake and just as broad. 

“What.”

“Have you been having any weird dreams or memories, or feeling like you’re not yourself?” John scoffs and starts to close the door. “No, dude, I’m serious. I want to help you.”

“As fucking if,” he says, “I know you’ve been a depressed bastard in the past, but it doesn’t mean you know how I’m feeling. I’m dealing with it. Don’t bother me.”

“That’s not what I--” He shuts the door in your face. The lock clicks. You return to Jane’s room but don’t sit down. 

“No luck?” Jake asks.

“Locked me out,” you say. Everyone seems to deflate. “Real dour note, if you ask me.”

It starts to get late. Roxy and Callie look tired, jetlagged. It’s late for them. Jane gives them each a hug at the transportalizer, and her dad gives Callie a container of brownies. They leave with a wave. You and Jake pack up similarly, with Mr. Crocker giving you an identical container to the one he gave Callie. Jane gives you a tight hug, and you hug her back. She seems normal. She seems like Jane. She hugs Jake, too, and says a soft ‘thank you’ into his collar. He gives her a squeeze, and she laughs. 

You go home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didnt think id have this up today but i took my adhd meds for the first time in a while and fucking cranked this out. uh. here it is. coming to a close soon, maybe 2 or 3 chapters left? 2 of plot and maybe a coda. we'll see. i was actually planning to write some other stuff, ive had some ideas rolling around, but then this document was the first i opened and went fuckin ham about it apparently. apologies for the slightly shorter chapter. 
> 
> as always, kudos and comments are appreciated! i'll seeyall next time, either in this fic or a potential other one! later! <3


	12. and visit me in hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Creators' Luncheon is finally upon us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! ive returned! sliiiight warning in this chapter for: mentioned drug and alcohol use, mentions of jakes trauma, invasive reporters, discussions of internalized homophobia, sort of, like, sensory overload? or the threat of it? aaaaand a little General Mental Health Dirk Strider Special. slightly longer one to make up for my absence lol

You’re starting to think you don’t belong here. Not in the way you used to, when you thought all your friends hated you, you “belonging” in that situation was something else. No, this is a different type of not belonging. You shouldn’t _be_ here. In your bed, in your house, in the Human Kingdom, on Earth C, anywhere. Your whole life was building up to playing the game, and now that you’ve beat it, you don’t know if you have a purpose.

You suppose the point of your life before the game was to get into the game, and then for those six months it was to win. After that, it was to be happy, and you failed horribly at that, but now you think you’re almost happy for real, so what’s there left to do? You’re fine at surviving, you’ve survived in conditions much worse than a twenty minute drive to the grocery store, but are you _living?_ Do you feel _alive?_

Of course you do. Of course you do, you have to. You have to, don’t you? You’re more than fine, you’re set for life, for several lives over, you’re just… You’re not sure what you’re supposed to do. You’re happy, you guess. You’re not sad, you’re not angry all the time, you’re not at war with yourself figuratively or literally. What else is there to be?

timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG]!

TT: Uh. Hey. Question.  
TG: you always seem to have those huh  
TT: It’s about your time travel stuff.  
TG: oh  
TG: huh  
TG: yknow i wasnt expecting that seeing as you dont talk all too much to me bro  
TG: idk if you even talk to anyone at all  
TG: prince of vanishing off the face of the earth up in here  
TT: How easy would it be to shoot us forward about fifty years?  
TG: dude  
TG: are you kidding me  
TG: i did 5000 and barely broke a fuckin sweat  
TG: 5 times 1000 on my timestables barely makin a dent  
TG: and youre askin if i can do 5 times 10  
TG: just gotta remove the zeroes bro its basic math  
TT: I’ll take that as a yes.  
TG: not all the zeroes obv you gotta leave one of em  
TG: i may not have finished middle school but i know my math  
TG: 1 + 1 is always gonna be 2 damn it  
TT: Dave.  
TG: yeah ok im done  
TG: anyway why do you wanna know  
TT: Just having some thoughts.  
TG: another thing you always have  
TG: brainiac dweeb ass roboticist or whatever  
TT: Ouch.  
TT: That hurts.  
TT: You’ve wounded me, Dave.  
TG: lmao gottem  
TG: anyway what are you up to  
TG: other than having thoughts  
TG: roxy said you were “bein gay in da woods”  
TT: Being gay in the woods is accurate, I suppose?  
TT: I am living with Jake in the woods. We’re chilling out.  
TG: sounds kinda gay not gonna lie  
TT: By that logic, wouldn’t that make you living with Karkat kind of gay?  
TG: what  
TG: no  
TG: what  
TG: were just chillin out  
TG: guys bein bros nothin gay here  
TT: Me living with Jake seemed kind of gay to you.  
TG: yeah cuz hes your boyfriend  
TG: karkat is not my boyfriend hes my bro and my friend  
TT: Your brofriend.  
TG: with whom i live  
TG: in a totally unhomoerotic way that implies no connection on a more intimate level than two good friends have  
TT: Are you really friends if people don’t think you’re kind of gay together?  
TG: haha very funny  
TG: me being kinda gay with john was a bit  
TG: no crushes whatsoever  
TT: So you had a crush on John?  
TG: uh  
TG: oh shit karkats stuck in the dryer  
TG: my good bro karkat who is my friend and not in a gay way  
TG: gtg

turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT]!

TT: It could be in a bi way.  
TT: Damn it.

“What’s that grin for?”

Jake is standing in the doorway of your workshop with a steaming mug of tea in one hand. Pumpkin spice, from the smell. He got it from a coffee shop in town and it’s the strongest shit you have ever smelled. Enough cloves and cinnamon to clear your sinuses from five feet away. You don’t know how he stands it. 

“Fulfilling my duties as a questionably older, possibly younger brother.” Jake chuckles and walks over to you, kissing your temple. He sets his mug down, and you lean into him as he examines the worktable. “Had to ask Dave a question, turned into me teasing him. Y’know.”

Hal’s chassis is coming along nicely. You’re currently working on wiring and movement, making sure nothing gets too tangled. The head - more of a brain, really, a little metal dome with Hal’s programming in it - sits on the desk beside you, the computerized shades still hooked up so he can watch your progress. Sometimes you’ll ask him to move the fingers in the arm you’re working on, but he’s mostly there for critique and conversation. 

“I hope you’re not teasing him too terribly,” Jake chides, and you breathe out a laugh.

“I’m tryin’ not to,” you say, “But… god. He’s so in love with Karkat and he won’t admit it.”

“I’m sure Jade would have done the same for me if she’d seen how I was pining for you before the game.” He kisses the top of your head. “I was so embarrassingly hopeless for you, I didn’t know what to do.”

“You got me all sequestered away for our adventures, didn’t you? That was something.” You shrug. “Dave had a whole three years alone with Karkat. If he didn’t figure his feelings out then, he never will.” The soldering iron is still hot; you secure a wire in place. "Took _you_ a long-ass time to figure your feelings out, fallin’ in love with me at thirteen or whatever.” He chuckles and shoves you in the side. You catch yourself on the table, grinning. “It's like you said, though: growing up in Texas in 2009 means the culture'll take a toll. Got some internalized shit all up in your brain and makin’ you deny your feelings. And whatever you-know-who drilled into his head about emotions. I’m not gonna try to push him about it, but…” you trail off, trying to find the right words, “But it’s something he needs to figure out how to talk about, I think. More than he did the very first time we met.” Jake makes a curious noise, and you shrug. “Nothing huge. I told him we, you and me, used to be a thing and he asked how I told you all I only liked dudes in the first place.”

“He asked you this when you first met?” Jake’s eyebrows nearly reach his hairline. “All of that is pretty heavy for a first meeting line of conversation.”

“Well.” You wave your hand in a _what are you gonna do?_ kind of way. “You know me. Can’t do anything all too light.” Jake frowns, that kind of big pouty frown where he doesn’t know how to keep going with a conversation. Usually because you’re being stubborn. You wave him off again, letting a little smile into your voice. “Besides. That’s when the conversation got way lighter. Started talkin’ about Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff after. Trust me. It was way fuckin’ heavier before that.” Jake’s frown deepens. “Hey, no, stop that,” you say, leaning up to flick his nose. That gets a surprised laugh out of him. Good. “Bein’ all weird and angsty on the first meeting is how Striders bond. Get everything out of the way and then we can just be chill after.”

“I suppose…” Jake sips his tea, looking over one of your equations. He corrects a number, and says, “Now I’m thinking about how incredibly normal the first interaction Jade and I had was! Then again, we all have different concepts of normal, but that’s another…” He trails off, looking at you quizzically. “What was it you were asking Dave about in the first place?”

You glance up from your notes. The number he corrected was exactly what you needed. You fix up the last few numbers. 

“Oh- right.” You tap your pen against the notebook, almost sheepish. “It was about time travel. If sending us forward in time would be easy. Y’know. That thing we were thinking about bringing up at the meeting.” Jake nods, taking another sip of his tea. God, that shit is strong. He’s quiet, mulling it over.

“You always do have a lot of plans cooking up in that head of yours,” he says finally, kissing the top of your head, as if he didn’t help come up with that idea, “There’s still some water on the stove. Would you like some cocoa?”

* * *

September becomes October. It gets darker earlier, the skies are greyer more often, it’s chillier than you like. You have to start wearing long sleeves for real, bundling up when it’s nowhere close to freezing. It will never be as warm as it was above the ocean, and you need to accept that. Rose knitted you a nice scarf a couple years ago with a copper-colored wool she found while visiting the city you’re supposed to be the patron of, in what would have been Ireland on regular Earth, and you practically refuse to leave the house without it. You’re always going to be pretty skin-and-bones, you gotta stay warm. You also might be anemic. You should get that checked out.

The fact that the scarf covers up your scar helps, too.

Autumn isn’t all that bad, though. Once it hits winter you might change your tune, but for now, you’re enjoying the way the trees change color on the mountainside and how Jake has purchased several dozen miniature gourds to place around the house. There’s a lot of orange. You like how the leaves crunch underfoot when you wear your hiking boots. The sound is nice.

As the days pass, you and Jake gather up your ideas for moving ahead. Printed out, typed up, formal kind of shit. Time travel. Talk it out. Go forward, live together for a little bit, don’t announce your return. You don’t explicitly say that you want it to be like it was just after the game, because you… don’t? You were all really fucked up then? Like, socially and mentally and somewhat physically just because of how godtiering works against Jane’s dad’s insistence that you get checkups and stuff? But you want the same setup. You want to be close again, to all be able to talk your shit out and exist together. It could just be nostalgia talking. 

It might be that you miss Can Town. Not Can City or whatever they refer to it as now, but the original series of can-shaped structures you let loosely form a village while you recuperated and processed all the battles you’d been through. Despite the accelerated healing process that godtiering provides and Jane’s help, you were all pretty beat to shit after your fight with Caliborn. You still have scars from that one, small ones around your eyes and the bite on your neck and shoulder. They’re largely faded, Jane’s intervention made sure of it, but like with the rest of them, you’re acutely aware.

You start getting increasingly anxious as the Creators’ Luncheon draws near. You stop answering messages. You start working out more, and not in a good way. You’re pushing yourself, you can feel it, with every breath of October air stinging your lungs as you finish another set of lunges. You alchemized a training dummy to practice on, its chest bleeding stuffing once you’re done skewering it on your sword. Panting, you head back to the porch, sword back in the sylladex, water bottle resting on the steps. You sit. The muscles in your legs burn. Should you go for a run? You glance out towards the forest, the waterfall trail calling out to you.

You could use a swim. It’ll be cold, but you’re used to it. It won’t be long until all the trees lose color and the fruit falls off the blackberry cane and the waterfall gets icy and it starts getting dark fuck early and you wind up spending all day inside because you’re too fucking miserable to do jack shit else. You should go. You should go, and maybe you shouldn’t return. Go off into the woods, separate from people, disappear, isolate yourself. Build a platform over the ocean near the equator and live out your life there. You can almost convince yourself it’ll be home.

Jake sits beside you, and you jump, nearly pulling your sword on him.

“Wo-ho-hoah there,” he says, just as surprised as you. He carefully brings his hand up, lowering the arm you brought up to defend yourself. “Easy there, pumpkin. Just me.”

You let your shoulders slump, but you don’t relax. You don’t think you can, not now. “Didn’t hear you come outside.” 

“I can tell!” He removes his hand from your arm, and you lean into him instead. He tugs you in by the shoulder, kissing the top of your head. “You’ve got all those nasty little stormcloud thoughts going around in that head of yours. Great big ball of terrible energy. I can practically see it.”

“Can’t help it, babe.” Your voice isn’t exactly distant, but you can’t say you’re all there. “I got rancid vibes. The worst. That’s me.” He chuckles, the sound warming up something in your chest. 

“You’re catastrophizing, you know.”

“Yeah.”

“You’ve been very quiet. And jumpy.” You hum, and he kisses your hair again. “I haven’t seen you this insistent on rigorous workouts since we were in the game! That’s how you know something has to be off.”

“You callin’ me out of shape?”

“No,” Jake says, poking you in the side, “But you _are_ a bit of a lazybones when you’re relaxed. The cuddly type, too.” You snort, elbowing him. He laughs, and you love his laugh. “Now. I can assume the thing on your mind is the one that’s on mine. And, really, it’s going to happen no matter what. There isn’t much we can do but go and propose our plan.”

“I know,” you sigh, “I’m just…” You wave your hand vaguely, sighing again. Jake nods, squeezing you closer.

“Oh, I know.”

You just sit. With him. Quiet. Gazing off into the woods. And he sits with you all the same.

* * *

This year, the Creators’ Luncheon is being held in Old Town Can City. They rotate every year where it’s held, and this year, they’re going back to the start. By the start, what you really mean is the end. It was the end for you, at least. It’s where you first landed when the Ultimate Reward spat you out onto your knew planet. It’s where the Mayor made Can Town a reality. Old Town Can City is that original Can Town, but now, it’s just a historical district. Museums and statues and structures that have been there for five thousand years that devout historians of Earth C dedicated themselves to maintaining. 

This is where the very first Creators’ Luncheon was celebrated. They made a festival of it. Parades. Headlines. Photo ops and autographs. It was a week after you arrived in 5000 NG. You barely had time to process that the little can house you lived in right after the game was now a sacred historical site, and that you were not allowed into it, god or not. It was, to say the least, overwhelming. 

The second anniversary of your return was held in the Troll Capital, the third in the Consort Capital, the fourth in the Carapace Capital, and the fifth, last year’s, in the Human Capital.

And now you’re back to the start, sentimentally, physically. Hopefully not emotionally. 

You’re granted a small grace: you’re not teleporting directly out to the crowds. You and Jake wind up in a little tent behind the main stage instead of on the stage itself. Outside, they must hear you arrive, because there’s a loud cheer from just behind the thin curtain separating you from them. You wince, ears buzzing from the noise. You won’t be able to do it. You’re not going to be able to go out there. You should turn back. You should go home. It’s highly possible that you - completely out of character, you know - are starting to panic. Perhaps getting overwhelmed. Having a meltdown, even.

Jake doesn’t let it get that far. He was by your side but now he’s in front of you, tapping your cheek to get your attention. Reaching into the pocket of his jeans, he takes out two pairs of earplugs that you’ve never seen before, nor do you recall him packing. He hands you, naturally, the orange pair; his own are green. You put them in and the buzzing stops. You can still hear the cheers, but it’s no longer overwhelming.

“Nifty, isn’t it?” Jake says conspiratorially, and you can hear his voice perfectly, “Non-muffling, too! Figured it out last month.” You’re never going to stop being amazed by him. He holds out a hand, grinning. “Shall we, then? The people are waiting.”

The crowd goes wild as the two of you step out, and go wilder when they notice that you’re holding hands. You’re the perfect picture of the Creators of legend, the Prince and the Page, consorts and lords of Consorts. You, flat-expressioned and wearing pointed shades; Jake, charismatic and great with large groups of people. You always have loved irony. Jake waves to the cameras, smiling wide and joking with the audience. There are reporters everywhere and many are trying to get your attention.

“Creator Dirk, how does it feel to make your first public appearance since last year’s Luncheon?”

“How long have you and Creator Jake been back together?”

“What are your opinions on Creator Jane’s decision to step down as head of Crockercorp?”

“Is it true you kidnapped Creator Jake from his home in the Human Capitol four months ago?”

That one makes you wince. Imperceptibly, of course. You do not outwardly react. You don’t think you could right now, even if you wanted to. You are going to humor one of them. Jake drops your hand to give a small interview with a crowd of Consort reporters; you approach a paper-white Carapacian woman. On Skaia, she would have been a Rook. She holds out her microphone, wide-eyed, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes. You’re really, _really_ , nothing that special.

“This is not my official return to the public sphere. I am here as a formality.” You keep your sentences short and clipped. It’s all they need. “I think Jane’s decision is wise. I did not kidnap Jake. Tell whatever rag made that shit up to stay out of my business.”

The reporter looks far too amazed that you’ve given this brief interview to look scandalized for you swearing on public television. You don’t give her a chance to ask anything else and walk off the stage. Jake spots you leaving and follows, shooting the cameras one last wink before bounding up to you like a golden retriever. He grabs your hand and the crowd cheers again. You don’t look back, heading to the tent off to the side. Jake gives them a final wave.

As soon as you’re both safely in the tent, Jake lets his smile drop, his shoulders slump. He tilts his head back and groans.

“Jimminy fucking Christ, I forgot how much I hate doing that, why do we do this?” he complains, gesturing with both hands, the one still in yours included, “It’ll be fun, Jake, you’re great with crowds, Jake, you’re so charming and friendly! Yes, they love me, but that’s because I’m a bloody sex symbol! Apparently I’m the goddamn epitome of masculinity, did you know that?” Well. You’d thought it a couple times when you were younger. Jake keeps talking. “Like I’m an action hero instead of some bloke who cries watching _Love Actually_ every year! Both versions! Did you know you they have one on this planet? It’s nearly identical, word for word!” You didn’t know that. He’s getting hysterical. “And they keep asking about you, too, as if you’re some evil creature who spirited me away against my wishes! Keeping me up in your tower for you machinations, gods know _what_ it is you’re getting up to in there, you’re--”

“Jake,” you interrupt, “I think we’re the last ones here. Everyone’s probably waiting for us.” He stops, looking at you, your joined hands, the scenery around you. He sighs, nodding.

“Right, right, yes. Got carried away.” He rubs the back of his neck with his free hand, sheepish. “We should probably join them, shouldn’t we?” You hum and pull him along. Hopefully the lunch is good this year.

As it turns out, you are not the last ones to arrive. The Luncheon, hosted in the largest conference room in the Old Town Can City Hall and History Museum, has not begun in any capacity. Roxy and Callie wave from their seats with Rose and Kanaya, Dave is floating halfway over the table as he chats with Jade and Karkat, and the seats meant for you and Jake are clearly marked. Other assorted guests sit at a couple separate tables, politicians, celebrities, notable historians. They’ve tried to get your life story many times. You have refused.

John, Jane, and Mr. Crocker are not there. Things can’t exactly start without them. Small talk is uncomfortable as it always is. Or you’re just making it uncomfortable. You don’t know. You might be uncomfortable in general. Giving that interview was not your best idea.

When they do arrive, Jane is looking as sharp as the public typically expects, and John is in his godtier hoodie. You don’t know if Mr. Crocker has any outfits that are not black slacks, white button-ups, and black ties. John looks a little scruffy, slouching like he doesn’t want to be here. He probably doesn’t. Judging by the look Mr. Crocker is giving him, getting John here was a struggle. Jane doesn’t have a single hair out of place, though the way she dusts off her skirt suggests she’s been doing that all day. 

“Ah,” she says, surveying your group, “Now we’re all here. So sorry for the delay! There were some…” She shoots John a glare, but pretends she doesn’t. “...complications.”

Jane starts the Luncheon with a rousing speech on community, working together, and how when you all first got to Earth C, you had to use your combined abilities to give everyone a good head start before you went to the future. 

“My imminent departure from Crockercorp is a decision I could not have made without my community. My friends, my contemporaries, and my advisers have all been instrumental in my decision. If it were not for them, especially for the ones I am closest to, I would not have been able to see the things in my life that had been going wrong. This decision will be the best for me, and, hopefully, for the company at large.”

She finishes her speech after thanking those in attendance, and is met with polite applause. She descends from the stage and takes her seat between you and her father. The chatter in the room starts up once again as the servers come out with the Luncheon’s food. Jane, shedding the worst of her corporate persona, leans towards you and murmurs out of the corner of her mouth, “How much of that baloney do you think they believed?”

“Oh, all of it,” you whisper back, “I was enraptured. The section meant for all the suits about numbers and sales was _fascinating.”_ She grins at you and you both barely contain your snickering as the servers bring your food over.

The chatter at the actual lunch is never anything special. You allow a couple visiting guests to shake your hand or ask you questions, but it’s as empty as the majority of Jane’s speech. It’s only after the lunch that things get interesting.

The meet-and-greet portion of the celebration ends. The guests leave. Your cohort of gods and founders are ushered into a smaller meeting room, just one table, plenty of chairs. This is where the politics take place. This is where you are going to unleash your plan. Your palms are sweaty, and you hate that.

“So!” Jade has taken the head of the table this year, wearing a cute dress that seems to twinkle with minute stars. “Who’s got business for us to discuss?”

There’s a moment where no one speaks. No one really wants to. You contemplate saying something by way of how much the outside portion of this event sucked. You don’t want to have to do _that_ shit again. The earplugs Jake gave you have served you well, but it was overwhelming nevertheless. You consider starting to say something, when Jake stands up.

“Actually, Dirk and I have been thinking.” Everyone’s eyes go to Jake. He glances around the table, swallows nervously, and decaptchalogues the papers you printed out this morning. “About our celebrity status versus trying to live normal lives. I know that I, for one, would much rather lead a normal life of a normal fellow, rather than have the ground I walk upon be so worshipped.” He’s practiced. You’ve heard him reciting this in the mirror. “Our return to Earth C was incredibly quick for those of us not- er- accustomed to society with large amounts of people, heheh.” He chuckles awkwardly, glancing at the paper again. “So we’ve- we’ve come up with a solution. Er--” He shuffles the papers around, finding the one with the rest of the proposal on it. “Using Dave’s ability to time travel, we propose that our group travels some fifty-odd years into the future and not announce our return. We could, then, continue with our lives in a way that does not disrupt the lives of others and allows us to live in peace.” A murmur ripples through the table. Jake clears his throat and continues.

“We are all very young. At our ages - for us humans, at least - our brains have not fully finished developing. We should be in school. We should be having experiences that other twenty-one-year-olds should be having. I, personally, would love to get carded. I think that would be kind of funny.” A couple chuckles. Alright, progress. “The other thing is…” He takes a deep breath, looking down at you. You nod, and he lets that deep breath out. “The god life is incredibly overwhelming. We are, more or less, child stars. The popularity and attention given to us at a young age, along with our godhood, is difficult to deal with on a daily basis. Being a celebrity, when I have never gone to school nor had much socialization in the first place, is difficult. I have been mobbed by paparazzi outside my home more times than I can count. It’s not normal. They began showing up outside my home very shortly after I turned eighteen. I have never been able to do anything a normal young man would be able to do. Dirk--” You wince. “--had to hide his identity in order to go to university, and had to drop out once his status was discovered.” You notice Dave frown. “Our proposal, to travel into the future and return with no announcement, would give the public time to forget that we were around and get over that craze. They had been doing fine without us. They will continue to be fine without us. Our departure would not disrupt the political system, nor the economy. Overall, it would be beneficial for all of us. We could… be ourselves. We could be twenty-somethings who can do their own thing and not be constantly pushed upon by the necessities of celebrity life. It’s overwhelming to be in front of those crowds, and to be photographed constantly, and to be forced into the public eye where anyone can fantasize about interacting with you. In- any sort of way.” A few nods around the table. Jake steadies himself and finishes up. “We just hope you’ll think about it. Please consider what we’re proposing. It could turn out to be better for us in the long run.”

The rest of the table is quiet. Everyone appears to be thinking. Contemplating. You hope. Your heart is racing. Jake sits back down, glancing nervously at you. You hold his hand under the table and just… wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Jade clears her throat after what feels like an eternity. 

“Well! I’m sure we can all think this over more in a little bit. Does anyone else have business to go over?”

Technically, you do, but… it’s much more of a private matter. A sleepover sort of activity. Settling the souls. You know. No one else has business to take care of in a formal setting.

* * *

Somehow, you all wind up back at the Crockbert house. Jade brought some type of sweet alcohol. John comes back downstairs with a weed vape. Before you know it, it’s midnight. It’s midnight, you have a little cupcake vodka in you, Jake has gotten past the giggly phase of being slightly high and now just sleepy now. Everyone is strewn about the living room in various states of sobriety. John stayed the entire time. Everyone is still mostly awake. You’re sitting up against the couch, staring into the kitchen, where Rose and Roxy have been making cupcakes. Mr. Crocker left you all alone some time ago.

Someone’s weight settles against your shoulder, but you’re relaxed enough to not jump. You turn, and it’s Dave. You’ve always been jealous of how tall Dave is. He’s not as tall as Jake, but it’s a near thing. He slouches to put your heads at equal level. You appreciate it. 

“Yo,” he says.

“Yo,” you reply.

“You were textin’ me earlier ‘bout that time travel thing.”

“Sure was.”

“S’that somethin’ you wanna go through with? For sure?” Dave’s accent is more pronounced when he’s tired or inebriated. Yours was always an act. He truly did grow up in Texas, and if he’s not trying to hide it, it’s clear.

“For sure,” you say.

He nods, contemplating.

“You were right, by the way.” You look up, meeting his eyes over the top of his shades. “‘Bout me ‘n Kat. Livin’ together in a bi way.”

“Yeah?” On the other side of the room, Karkat stirs from where he’s tangled with Kanaya.

“Yeah. Been thinkin’ ‘bout it. Known the dude for…” Despite knowing exact dates to the second on a normal day, Dave has to count on his fingers. “...Eight years? Jesus. Ain’t surprisin’ that you n’ Rose know how ‘m super fuckin’ gay about him.” In the kitchen, the oven timer rings. “Ain’t it weird how we’re still usin’ Jesus as a cuss when he didn’t fuckin’ exist here? We gotta be the only people who fuckin’... know. Any of that shit. Been thinkin’ about that as well.”

You nod along. You’ve considered it. You’ve considered a lot of things about Earth C and its peculiarities. It drives you a little nuts. It shouldn’t make sense, not with how meticulously you studied the development of civilization after evolution. You can take it up with the Universe Frog five thousand more years from now.

“Weird question,” you say, and he raises an eyebrow, “Have you been havin’, like, weird dreams or headaches?”

“Ehhhh…” Dave waves his hand in a slow so-so motion. “Ain’t much different from the other timeline Daves dyin’. ‘M kinda used to it.” That… was not the answer you were expecting. In the slightest. “But it seems like there’s more of ‘em. You know about that?”

“Little bit. Can I check with you?” You touch his hand and he nods.

Dave’s soulscape is a lot like Roxy’s. None of the Daves are clamoring or shouting like they were for you or Jane or Jake. They’re just… chilling out. Whatever this space is, it’s the kinds of activities Dave finds cool. There’s a dozen Daves on a half pipe all hanging out, and a couple more talking over what appears to be a script. Some are drawing, some are mixing music, some are--

If your breathing could catch in the liminal space that exists within your brother’s soul, it would. It does anyway. You stop short as a tall Dave walks by, clearly older than the majority, wearing a blazer over a t-shirt that says _i rebelled against the fuckin batterbitch and all i got was this shitty dead_ in Comic Sans and a pair of jeans. This one doesn’t seem to notice you, but you notice him. You notice him more than you’ve ever noticed anyone ever before. He sits down with the script doctor Daves and joins the conversation. If you could just find the one who’s in charge, you could--

“Yo.”

You whip around to see a Dave identical to the one leaning against your shoulder in the real world beside you, sucking on a juice box. He tosses it aside and it vanishes before it hits the ground.

“I’m assumin’ you’re wantin’ me to get this more manageable.” He gestures vaguely to the collected Daves. You nod and shrug.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“They’re decent at managing themselves. Shitty Daves get sent to the Shitty Dave Pit ‘n can’t come out. They ain’t hurtin’ nobody.”

“And they’re not hurting you?”

“Nah. We’re all vibin’. Cool dudes. Waaaaaaay better than the other dead Daves. Shit, boy, I died. A lot.” You snort and nod. You know the feeling. “Anyway, if you wanna, like, talk to them, I’m sure they’d love to hang. Maybe not the ones in Dave Therapy.” He points to a large freestanding sign marking the rows of couches and chairs as _Dave Therapy._ You _definitely_ spot a couple Dave Lalondes in there. “They’re still workin’ shit out.” The other Daves seem way too busy talking to one another to notice that you’re not one of them. You spot another version of your Bro and your heart stings. You hear a strange sound, and your Dave has manifested another juice box, sipping at it. “I know you wanna talk to him, bro. Say hi. Bet he’s missin’ you, too.”

This- can not be allowed. He just _gets_ you. You feel like you barely know Dave, but he _gets_ you. You suppose he may have similar issues regarding his own Bro, but--

“Go, dude. I can see you gettin’ ready to ask me somethin’. Talk to him. You know how to get out if you need.” And then he just… walks off. Like it was nothing. Like you aren’t literally in his soul right now. 

You wander around for a little longer, definitely not avoiding eye contact with versions of your Bro. A couple regular Daves recognize you and wave. Some say hi. Some invite you to chill with them. You almost accept, when--

“Dirk?”

Just past the Dave you’re currently talking to, there’s a version of your Bro. Jeans, blazer, _Good Girls Gone Bad_ bachelorette party t-shirt, aviator shades. He’s got the same type of freckles you do, the same nose, the same hair texture. This is not just any version of your Bro. This is Your Bro.

“...Hey, man.” Your voice comes out shakier than you intended. Your Bro pushes through the crowd of other Daves and hugs you without hesitation. You hug him back and you don’t even care if the other Daves are looking; they all understand. Every emotion you’ve ever felt towards him rises to the surface and it’s too much for you to handle. You can barely keep yourself calm as is. He pulls back from the hug, hands still on your shoulders.

“Look at you. All grown up. Shit.” He grins, and you manage a watery laugh in return. “Rose manifested some baby photos of you n’ Roxy but now you’re, like, an adult. That shit’s crazy.” There’s so much you want to say to him. You can’t stay here forever, though. It may last only a split second in real time, but if you stay any longer, you may never want to come out. He hugs you close again. “I’m proud of you,” he says. He ruffles your hair. You can always come back. 

You return to yourself mere seconds after touching Dave’s hand, but it feels like you’ve been gone for years. Rose and Roxy are still in the kitchen, the cupcakes just now coming out of the oven. Everyone seems to perk up at that.

At some point, you all fall asleep. Waking up is going to be such a fucking pain. But right now, you’re cuddled against Jake on what feels like the comfiest couch you’ve ever been on with all your other friends in the room and nothing else has ever felt this nice. 

You’ve missed this. You’ve missed a lot of things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you may be asking "leaf, where have you been? its been 2 months instead of your usual 1!" and the thing about that is that i am a college student with adhd and in the last two months have had: 3 papers, 1 presentation, 2 major jewish holidays, 2 research papers to work on, and 1 day where i reread find a temple build a temple and cried for, like, hours. for the depiction of childhood love at first sight that leads to romance that hurts because its so strong or for the memory of reading it when i was like 14 and didnt *get* it then i don't know. dirkjake fics from 2012-2014 Really Do Hit Different. the golden age. fingers crossed i can inject some of that Classic Age DirkJake Romance into this. later of course. i also realized while reading find a temple that i subconsciously stole the 'getting lost' scene for a shitty short story i wrote as a senior in high school. 
> 
> by the looks, we've got about 2 chapters left. see you all soon. kudos and comments are always appreciated <3
> 
> edit: as requested, 2012-2014ish fics that Hit Different. many of them deal with, like, dirk's mental health in various ways lmao and several are smut but like.... only after its established that theyre in love ig? heed the tags on 'em lol  
> [ Hopeless and Heartless](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1026527/chapters/2043710) by LateNiteSlacker  
> [ Find a Temple, Build a Temple ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/375436/chapters/612451) by eggjam  
> [ a thousand years ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/447686/chapters/766526) and the [adoring, adored](https://archiveofourown.org/series/57913) series. orphaned, but by venusian-eye  
> [Of Hope and Heart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14529093) by wittyy_name (second part in a series)  
> [ i'm sick, you're tired; let's dance ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/974752) by softkats  
> [ every borrowed hour ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/851624), orphaned  
> [ Never Been Happier ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/379108) by PeriPeriwinkle  
> [ Just The Way You Are ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1196442), orphaned  
> honorable mentions:  
> [ Three Small Words ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2137896) by LateNiteSlacker. it's a johndave fic but dirk and jake Are There  
> [ If You're Coming My Way (Just Don't)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4242483) by DragonBandit. archive-locked. past the timeframe.  
> [ ice age // how to destroy angels](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3287324/chapters/7173830) by 2x2verse. fell just right out of the timeframe.  
> [ The Boy and the Raven](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4115728/chapters/9275530) by ticklishivories. outside the timeframe.  
> [Mythic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9457190) and [ Firefly ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9412175) by sunflowerwonder. posted in 2017 but Fuck Dude They're Good  
> [ drive it home with one headlight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19281412/chapters/45856705) and [ pump your veins with gushing gold](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8392597/chapters/19227505) (tbh.... any dirkjake from callmearcturus) also get honorable mentions but theyre, like, recent enough that ppl would know them
> 
> alright. thats it from me. good god this is a long note, but there are so many fics that Really Hit from that era


	13. that's you and me, that's home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the luncheon aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhhhhhh more in the end note, warnings for uhhhh like. depression, rose antagonizing dirk over his other selves, implied alcoholism, grief, and sort of the. the existential fridge horror of sburb? if that makes sense? you'll know it when you see it

You wake up with a headache. It is very hard for you to get intoxicated in any fashion, either from batshit biology or sheer stubbornness, and yet you wake up with a headache. You didn’t even have that much to drink. Still, your head hurts.

You didn’t have a normal childhood by any stretch. You, actually, should have at  _ least  _ three more disorders than you already do, and it’s a wonder that you’re even alive to begin. The fact that you weren’t raised around people means you did not have many of the experiences that the people who did - in the case of your group, just John and Jane - got to have.

However, the feeling of waking up first at a sleepover is universal. You come back to consciousness lying on the couch on top of Jake, your head on his chest and the vibrations of his soft snores rattling yours. Everyone else is spread out around the living room: Dave, under the coffee table and inexplicably in his godtier robes; Roxy, Jane, and Callie all snuggled together in the overlarge armchair; Rose and Kanaya on an air mattress you do not remember getting blown up nor dragged in the night before; John, upright against the side of the couch, still in his jeans; Jade, curled up on a bean bag you  _ do  _ remember getting dragged in; and Karkat, leaning against Jade’s bean bag, knees up to his chest, back to the wall. There’s something about waking up first that’s always weird - you’re not a morning person, but you’ve experienced it a few times before. The light always feels too thin. The air is cool, but in the way that no one has moved through it just yet. The smell of the coffee that was set to brew last night always wafts through from the kitchen, no matter what room you’re in. If you move, you’ll wake everyone else up and ruin it. If you speak, it will be the loudest sound in the world. If you so much as shift, the moment will be broken. Everyone here is dead to the world, everyone but you, but this moment is also the entire world. There is nothing out there. It’s just you, the sound of your breathing, and the ten or so Schrodinger’s corpses scattered around the room. They’re either dead or asleep, and you wouldn’t know until you wake them up. They’re always alive when you wake them up, but if they’re still sleeping, they could be dead. You’d never know. You’re the last person in the world, this world, this moment, and that will stay true until someone proves you wrong.

You notice a shift of movement in the corner of your vision and glance over to see that, no, you’re not the last one alive. Across the room, you lock eyes with Karkat. His irises are starting to turn red. Not because he saw you. Just in general. You stare. He stares. And then he goes back to his phone, quietly scrolling through his social media feeds. You’ve acknowledged that you’re both awake. The moment, your microcosm of solipsized reality, breaks. It’s no longer just you. You’re not sure if the realization is comforting or if it makes you sad. You’re no longer alone. He seems to understand, though, how delicate the moment is. How neither of you can really move until someone else does, until someone else really breaks it and the day can get going. Outside, you can hear birds.

Slowly, the rest of the group starts to stir. Groggy, disoriented, hungover, but alive, awake, there. You watch as Rose rises from the air mattress and stumbles into the kitchen. She emerges a moment later, leaning heavily against the wall, half a cupcake in her hand and chocolate crumbs on her cheek. Breakfast of motherfucking champions. She sees you looking at her, raises the baked good like she’s toasting to your health, and takes another bite. Jade bounds in after her and returns with drooped, disappointed ears a moment later. Dog allergies. You’ll make sure to bring yellowcake mix for next time.

Next time. 

Huh.

Next time. 

You haven’t planned for ‘next time’ in… in you don’t know how long. You haven’t hung out with anyone and looked forward to doing it again in a while. Your college friends would add you to their group messages and invite you to come over after you dropped out. When you replied, if you replied at all, you’d always tell them, “Maybe next time.” But this is different. Your college friends would post pictures on their social media of them at parties, hanging out, going out to dinner and celebrating holidays, and you’d be envious. You’d be envious and you’d be disappointed, because after a while, most of them stopped trying to get you to hang out. You couldn’t get out of bed most days. The days you did could spent in a manic haze of building and coding and writing academic papers about inane bullshit that you’d regret in the morning. You’d write them during a sleepless night and wake up to glowing comments on the worst goddamn thing you’d ever written. You couldn’t get out of bed most days and your college friends you invite you out and you’d say no and then you’d feel an acute sting of rejection when you’d see the photos of them having fun without you. A couple kept reaching out. They were always reaching out, and you suppose you’re thankful for that.

Distantly, you remember the invitation you’d received over the summer, for the party where you ran into Jake. You remember the decorations. It was a graduation party. And they’d thought of you. You’ll reach out soon. Before you leave.

“Damn, dude, have a little coffee with your milk,” Dave says, sitting next to you at the kitchen table. You add a little extra sugar, just to spite him. You’re all in the kitchen now, coffee in the pot, pancakes on the griddle, chatter minimal as several of your friends nurse headaches. Bacon sizzles in the background. Dave knocks his shoulder against yours, rolling his eyes at you over his shades. You push him back, keeping your coffee from spilling. He pokes your shoulder (a little harder than you expected, too,  _ ow)  _ and snorts, but does lean in a little closer. “You done that soul thing with anyone else?” 

Across the table, Rose looks up from her third cup of coffee, scrutinizing you. Her once-tired eyes are now sharp, hawkish as she stares. You look away from her, suddenly uncomfortable.

“Uh,” you say, glancing around: Rose is staring; Jade has her head cocked to the side, one fluffy ear twitching. No one else is looking at you, luckily. “I mean. Yeah. With Jake, Rox, n’ Jane.”

Jane’s superpower, other than being a literal healing goddess who has brought you and your friends back to life when you have actually died, is that any time her name is said anywhere in a house that she is also in, she  _ will  _ hear it. She passes the spatula to John, who has been absently floating beside the fridge - you don’t think he realizes he’s even doing it - and walks over, more awake than the rest of you. Morning people.

“Did you say my name?” she says, standing over by Jade’s shoulder. You feel like you’re sitting in front of some sort of council. Girls you are slightly intimidated by who are here to judge your fate, or some shit.

“Kinda?” You take a slightly-too-big sip of your coffee and choke as you swallow it down. “Uh- Just. Telling Dave about the soul thing. ‘N fixing stuff. Who I’ve fixed it for.”

“Of course. It was very helpful! Got rid of my headaches like  _ that.”  _ Jane snaps her fingers on the last word; Rose raises a manicured eyebrow in your direction. “Not to mention how it balanced my sense of self, of course,  _ that  _ was a relief and a half.” She winks in your direction before heading back to the stove. Rose and Jade have their attention back on you the second Jane is gone, though Jade’s look is more curious than whatever calculation Rose is trying to do to solve you. 

“If we were to ask you to do this ‘soul thing,’” Rose says, doing air quotes with one hand, “what would be the requirements? Are there necessary symptoms that you require before you are able to intervene? Or is it some kind of soul tetanus shot? Mortals forbid we get lockjaw, Dirk, this is very important. What if I cut my hand on a rusty piece of metal?” 

“Rose,” Dave says.

“No, Dave, I’m not done. Is it a flu shot for my soul? Will I get a little extra soul injected into mine so I can fight it off with the proper antibodies?”

“Rose.”

“Or perhaps it’s already too late. I can feel myself succumbing to the illness, Dirk, look how I faint. You really should have said something sooner, I told you I was sick.”

_ “Rose,  _ oh my  _ god.”  _ Rose puts her hands up in mock-surrender. “Let the man talk, dude.”

“Just trying to get all my questions answered before I go through with treatment, nurse. Wouldn’t want undue side effects.” Dave groans, running his hands through his hair and letting his head  _ thunk _ to the table. 

Slowly, you say, “There’s… only one requirement. Being godtier. Which… accounts for the majority of our party.” Another pancake goes on the griddle, hissing. Jade’s ear flicks in the direction of the stove, but her attention stays on you. “And it only takes a second. I just need to--” God, Rose’s stare is boring into you, you feel like you’ve done something wrong. “--touch your arm?” 

She looks skeptical, but extends a dainty hand across the table towards your. You try to keep contact minimal, touching your pointer finger to the back of her wrist. You focus.

Rose’s soulscape looks how you imagine yours looked before your other selves figured it out. Like Roxy and Dave’s, there’s an open space, but unlike either of them, all of the souls are fighting. All around you, you hear shouting, things breaking, yells of frustration. You let yourself float with the dream logic of the place, and the infinity of Roses below you continue to duke it out with little regard for the interloper. It’s… a football stadium. Huh. Alright. A couple Roses seem to notice you, some of the ones sitting on the sidelines and goading the others on, but they lose interest in you quickly. Distantly, you hear a loud, clamoring cheer. You float over to a section akin to an auditorium, countless Roses filling the seats. The Rose at the podium steps down, another taking her place. She clicks a small remote, an image of a jadeblood troll in a long red skirt appearing on the screen behind her. She clears her throat, and speaks.

“Kanaya.” Another enormous cheer from the gathered crowd. 

You continue further on and find a section you assume was supposed to be like Dave’s Dave Therapy, but the couches are overturned and on fire, and the Roses are throwing clipboards. More fighting. 

You circle back and touch down among the quietest section of the stands where a number of older Roses are sitting. Several are watching the fights, though their degree of interest varies; the others seem to be chatting amicably. The large sign, however, declaring that NO HOT DRINKS are ALLOWED, suggests this was not always the case. You approach one of the calmest tables, offering a small wave.

All three of the Roses at the table look up at you. Each one has a different drink; the oldest, clearly a bestselling-fantasy-writer-turned-rebel Rose Lalonde, has a glass of iced tea in front of her; the youngest, in a black skull dress and long magenta scarf, has a root beer float; the middle one, you’d put her at about seventeen or eighteen, is godtier herself, and is tracing her middle finger around the rim of an empty shot glass. They all have identical lavender eyes and are all watching you with identical lavender gazes. You open your mouth to speak, but the middle Rose raises a hand to cut you off.

“I know what this is about, Dirk, we all do,” she says, “Would you really deprive the citizens of Rose their panem et circenses?” You roll your eyes. So hard. Jesus. Little Goth Rose snorts into her root beer. She can’t be more than thirteen. That makes you uneasy in a way you can’t place.

“That pun fucking sucked,” you deadpan. Middle Rose rolls her eyes the exact same way you do.

“Have a seat, Dirk,” Adult Rose says, materializing an extra chair for you. You sit. 

“You want to get rid of all of this, don’t you?” Little Goth Rose says, gesturing to the arena, “Make it calm down.” You shrug.

“I mean, yeah.”

“Hm.” She goes back to her root beer.

“I wouldn’t be against it,” Adult Rose says. She looks so painfully like Roxy that it makes your heart ache for them. “It would be easy to get the alternate versions of myself together. We’re all very recognizable.” She seems to consider you for a moment. “Would you like me to gather them?” You glance around, at the fighting, the cheering, the tea drinking and pleasant conversation.

“Might make things easier.”

Adult Rose nods once and stands. She pushes in her chair, and, to your surprise, kisses your forehead. “Say hello to my Roxy for me.” And then she’s gone, disappearing into the infinity of the space. You feel… wistful, almost, as she vanishes.

Middle Rose and Little Goth Rose are still staring at you. You glance between them, unnerved.

“I, uh.” Yeah, if Rose normally kind of intimidates you, two Roses is worse. You feel Little Goth Rose’s judgement a little more harshly, you think. Middle schoolers, man. You never went to middle school, but you know how you felt at that age. She could be full of rage, even if her curious exterior betrays nothing. “I don’t suppose you’re going to help.”

“You’re right,” Middle Rose says. You blink, surprised. She continues. “You know, _my_ Dirk never takes his shades off. You must be a weird one. Possibly not even the _real_ one.” You roll your eyes, crossing your arms. Middle Rose leans in across the table, catlike, malicious. “Did I strike a nerve, dear father? Get at all those pesky little insecurities of yours? I’d hate to be an antagonist but it seems that all _you’ve_ ever done for me. Been a terrible thorn in my side since the day we first spoke. And now you’re _here,_ in _my_ afterlife, continuing to bother me.” You shift in your seat, chewing the inside of your cheek. She doesn’t sit back down. “And now you want us to, what, condense? Get smaller and stop expressing ourselves? Fucking _low,_ Dirk. Back to your old tendencies. You just _had_ to be so. Damn. Controlling.” 

“I’m trying to help you.” Defensive. Flat.

“Just like you were trying to help Jane and Jake?”

You stop. Hunch your shoulders and look away. Middle Rose sits back with a satisfied smirk, eyes still wicked. “Thought so.” She looks around, gesturing widely. “Look at this place, Dirk. We don’t  _ need _ help. We’re doing just fine on our own.”

“No, we’re not,” Little Goth Rose pipes up. Middle Rose looks surprised that she interrupted. “We’re not doing fine. All that fighting’s bad for Real Rose.”

“We  _ are _ real Roses,” Middle Rose snaps.

“But we’re not in the control room, and we’re not the source soul. She is.” She points to the announcer’s booth. Middle Rose huffs, slouching. Little Goth Rose turns to you, examining you like a puzzle. “You look like Dave.”

That catches you more off guard than Middle Rose’s interrogation ever could. Then it hits you. 

“We never met in your timeline.”

“Nope. I went grimdark and now I’m here.” She shrugs, like her death wasn’t such a big deal. Maybe it wasn’t. Not to her. “I suppose you’re his brother. You look younger than I imagined.” She doesn’t mean it that way, but it still stings.

“Um- not exactly,” you say, right as Middle Rose says, “Yes, he is.” You shoot a glare at her, and she sticks her tongue out at you. There is a second shot glass beside the first, also empty. Little Goth Rose seems to consider this.

“Hm,” she says.

Adult Rose comes back quickly enough that you don’t have to sit there in horrible silence with the other two for very long. She has a couple more Adult Roses with her, ones that are definitely Roxy’s-Mom Adult Roses instead of Rose-Who-Is-Grown-Up Adult Roses, and you show them how to merge, how to reduce down into a more singular entity. They still have all of their experiences and memories, but this saves space and energy. Zip files, if you would. The now-merged Adult Rose shivers, but gives you a smile, her eyes bright. You glance back at the other two; Little Goth Rose is staring at you, mouth agape, astonished. Middle Rose meets your gaze, and sarcastically begins clapping.

“Oh, truly, _fantastic_ work,” she snarls, eyes baleful, “It may have been easy to get _them--”_ She gestures at Adult Rose. “--to work with you, but I fucking _doubt_ the others will be so cooperative.” You raise your eyebrows.

“Wanna bet?”

It is, admittedly, a little harder to get the rest of the Roses to be so cooperative. You knew Rose could be quite creative with insults, but hearing a crowd of thousands all call you a little baby man and a terrible actor with a godawful poker face feels very strange. It hurts, but at the same time, it’s fucking absurd. You drift above the crowds, finding heart-player Roses, showing them how to condense and lessen the destruction. Several Roses, along the way, throw things at you. Bottles, chairs, clipboards, balls of yarn. No big deal, really. It’s a struggle, but soon enough, the stadium gets smaller. They’re too focused on fighting you to fight one another, and the more contentious ones get absorbed quickly. You spot Middle Rose in the crowd, and she flips you off as you pass. They’ll be fine. 

You drift back into your own consciousness, opening your eyes. Not long has passed, maybe ten seconds total. Nothing enormous. Jade is still giving you that curious look, Dave’s head is still on the table, and Rose is still sitting in front of you. She blinks once, twice, and withdraws her hand. She looks awake, alert, aware. Her eyes look clearer. She sits up straight, rolling her shoulders back for a moment and looking around. Her gaze lands back on you.

“Hm,” she says, in a way that reminds you painfully of the younger Rose you met. She considers you for a moment. “You really hate being put in a father figure role, don’t you?”

You roll your eyes, but your shoulders still drop in relief. “You don’t know the fuckin’ half of it.” 

When she smiles, she looks just like you. 

* * *

It doesn’t appear like anyone particularly wants to go anywhere just yet. You’re all still hanging around in the living room after breakfast when Jade plops down beside you on the beanbag. You’re lucky that you managed to catch yourself before getting fucking launched, you’re that light. Jade giggles, helping you back up.

“What can I do for you, Ms. Harley?” 

“Well, Mr. Strider,” she starts, and that false seriousness between the two of you sends you both into newned chuckles, “I was waiting until we were done with breakfast to ask, since you looked all tired after helping Rose, so…” She extends a hand toward you. “I haven’t been  _ feeling  _ any weird soul stuff, but... check for me just in case?” She gives you the exact same puppy-dog eyes that Jake does, but this time it’s literal.

“You got it.” You take her hand, and let yourself focus.

What you find in the landscape of Jade’s soul is not what you were expecting. In the slightest. You’re in a greenhouse, and there are five Jades all milling around. Watering plants, tending weeds, sometimes just chatting with the flowers. A dog barks behind you, and all the Jades turn to look at you. 

“Oh! This is what you meant!” says a Jade identical to the one you’re physically sitting beside, minus the dog ears, “Hi, Dirk!”

“Uh.” Huh. You’re. Not sure how to process this. “Hi.

“Dave’s brother?” says the troll Jade, who was definitely a normal Jade a minute ago.

“Mhm!” says the much younger Jade in Prospit pajamas.

“Weird,” says the Jade wearing big, round shades that fully obscure her eyes.

“Certainly,” says the old lady Jade, and a spike of fear goes through your heart, “You’re the kid enamoured with my grandson.” She smirks, chuckling to herself. “Hmph.” The dog barks.

“Uh,” you say again, very intelligently. They’re just… working together. No fighting, no multitudes. “You’ve already got it worked out.” These women could build a nuclear reactor in a week, and you’re standing here like a dumbass trying to get some words out. “I guess I don’t…” Normal Jade gives you another smile.

“That’s alright! We just wanted to make sure. I think it was some First Guardian stuff that made it happen automatically. Right, Bec?” The dog barks again. You ignore how appraising Jade English’s gaze is as you draw your energy back out.

Jade pulls your hand away from yours. She’s got this look on her face like she’s confused, pushing out her lip like she’s pouting. 

“Weird!” she says, with more inflection than the Jade Strider you met did.

“Definitely weird.”

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Ever the scientist. 

“I… guess?” You shrug. “It just wasn’t what I expected.”

Jade sighs playfully, shaking her head. “And ain’t that just the way?” 

It certainly is.

* * *

You excuse yourself from the group partway through a particularly intense game of Jenga and head upstairs. John’s room is far enough from the stairs that the others won’t hear you knock.

“I don’t want to play Connect Four or whatever the fuck you’re doing down there. I’m all partied out.”

“It’s me,” you say. John is quiet. A moment later, he opens the door.

“What do you want.”

“I just need to check something. With your soul. Make sure it’s alright and everything. You’re the last one.” He looks like he’s considering closing the door on you again. He doesn’t. You enter the room and shut the door behind you.

The John standing in front of you is not the John you beat the game with. That John was sixteen, bright-eyed and enthusiastic about everything, coasting on the tail end of a growth spurt. He was strong but not built, determined but not naive. The John in front of you is twenty-one and looks  _ done.  _ He’s done growing, he’s filled out enough that you’d be tempted to call him a bear, and you can tell at a glance he could bench you without issue. He looks tired and hasn’t shaved since yesterday. His hair is messy and the look in his eye says,  _ please make this worth my time. For your own sake.  _

“So… what is it you’re going to do?” His voice is flat, annoyed, and you want to think it’s not because of you.

“Give me your hand.” You hold yours out, and he looks skeptical. You roll your eyes. “Dude. C’mon.” __

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” John says.

“There doesn’t have to be. It’s a check-up, not a trip to the ER.”

“There’s nothing wrong,” he repeats, “You’re not going to find anything.”

He takes your hand.

John’s soulscape is a lot like yours in that there’s… not much to see. It’s just space. Empty space. You look around and see nothing. No one.

You blink, and you’re suddenly standing in what appears to be John’s bedroom. It looks cleaner than you’ve ever seen it, the sunlight from outside bright and shining. There is a cake on the dresser. Glancing out the window, you notice that same slime pogo ride sitting in the yard. 

“Told you,” a voice says, and you turn to see a thirteen-year-old John standing by the door. He has his hands in his cargo-short-pockets and an expression too old for his young face. You blink again, and the scene changes. You appear to be in a Prospitan battleship; John is in his godtier robes. He looks about fifteen now. “There’s nothing to see. Nothing to fix.” You look around the ship as best you can, but it shifts again. “It’s just me in here, Dirk. Always has been.” Now she’s got a ponytail and a skirt as a part of her godtier outfit. Every time you blink - and to test it, you find yourself blinking a lot - the room and the person in front of you changes. An old man, a teenage girl, a blueblood troll, a twenty-something with a mullet, a middle-aged man, a little kid, a tween boy. “There’s nothing to change because there’s nothing wrong, Dirk,” John says between incarnations, like it isn’t even affecting him. There are so many versions of the person in front of you that it makes your head spin. 

You pull back, into your own body, and have to lean against the bookshelf to steady yourself.

“Sit down,” John says, and you do. He sits across from you, cross-legged, on the floor. “I told you, man. It’s just me. It has  _ always  _ just been me. And every-- every part of me, I guess.”

“You’re cosmically fine,” you say, but he already knows that. He’s fully realized. Ultimate. Just one soul, and all the others are fine with being there. 

“I stuck my hand through a fucky time portal that allows me to manipulate canon. I’ve always been fine. And if I’m not, I’ll just… I dunno. Change it back.” He shrugs, leaning against his bed. “Maybe I’m a little fucked up, but it’s not… Y’know. It’s not because of the game.” 

You mull this over, humming.

“But it is.” He raises a skeptical eyebrow at you. “It is because of the game. If we’d never played it, you’d still be on Earth B with your--” He looks away, crossing his arms. “...Y’know.”

“Yeah. I would.” 

You sit in silence for a little while. He doesn’t mean to be hostile, but… well. Y’know. Oops. You eventually speak up.

“Have you considered, like, getting therapy or anything?”

“I already fucking said there wasn’t anything wrong with me,” he snaps, glaring, “Besides, what would I fucking say to them? Oh, hey, yeah, my friends and I played a game that ended all life on the previous planet I lived on, killing everyone I knew in a fiery meteor storm on my thirteenth birthday. And then I died, and then I found my father fucking murdered by a crazy dog creature. Every single goddamn person in my fucking middle school was wiped out, all because we played this game. I had  _ friends,  _ Dirk. I knew  _ other people.  _ And then one of the four people I knew who survived getting into the game fucking  _ died _ and I had to  _ find his body.  _ And  _ then,  _ to make matters fucking worse, when I finally win this hellgame, I find an identical copy to my father still alive? But he’s not the same? Tell me, Dirk, how I’m supposed to fucking explain any of that to a therapist.”

You listen. It’s the best you can do. 

“I don’t know,” you say, “I don’t know, because I don’t know how I’d explain my life to a therapist either. I’ve read up on psychology here and there, and there are  _ so  _ many reasons why I shouldn’t be alive. I shouldn’t be able to speak. I shouldn’t be able to understand human speech as it is spoken. I shouldn’t be walking on two legs. I raised myself, John. I shouldn’t be here. I grew up idolizing a man I’d never meet and was the only person for miles. I was attacked by robots constantly. A fish woman wanted me dead and wanted my best friend dead, too. I never touched another human until I was nearly sixteen. I know this isn’t a  _ why we all need therapy  _ Olympics game, but, y’know? I get it.”

“You  _ don’t,”  _ he says, curling in on himself, “I had three years to mourn my father before getting my hopes up over a man who looks exactly like him, only to have to mourn him all over again.”

“I entered the game expecting to meet my Bro in the form he would have taken in my universe. I got a teenaged version of him instead, and he was afraid to speak to me. I get it.”

John is quiet for a long, long moment. He sighs.

“I think I’m depressed.”

It’s progress.

* * *

You both come downstairs after a little while. The rest of your friends have put the Jenga set away, and stop talking when you arrive. “Oh, hey, we were just talking about you,” says Jane.

“And about your, uh. Time plan,” says Dave.

They all glance around at one another.

“We want to go through with it. Going forward a couple decades,” Rose says, and it’s the most awkward you’ve ever heard her.

They want to go through with it. They want to go through with it.

“We talked it over once you left, and…” Jake trails off, giving you a sheepish smile, “Well. A conclusion was drawn.”

They want to go through with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, like last time, i know. it's been a while. i had a semester to finish, and hanukkah to celebrate, and a whole lot of other stuff related to a new hyperfixation. i promised myself i'd finish this fic and im going to, it just might take a little time. it's the longest thing ive ever written and im immensely proud of it, it just yknow. it takes a little time. ive got plans already for the final chapter, which will act as i guess a coda? i opened the doc and it said the last time i edited it was dec 6 (this is being posted dec 29) and i was like oh god i need to write so i did. 
> 
> slumber party bit was based off my own experiences being the first one awake at slumber parties. the air really does hit different, i cant explain it. ALSO adhd dirk strider real. adhd dirk strider is so fucking real. look at him. little 15 yr old me is quaking with the knowledge that what im seeing in dirk strider is actually my undiagnosed adhd. 
> 
> i'll get the last chapter out at some point. im on break right now and have basically a month, though we'll see where this new hyperfix takes me. im not gonna make any promises other than this fic will be completed. i can feel myself moving away from homestuck, but these characters are still incredibly important to me and i want to see them through to the end. i havent even read the latest hs2 update and yknow? i dont think i will
> 
> i hope you all have had a very happy holidays, and i'll see you next time. comments and kudos always fuel my little heart. see you then. <3


	14. we're the ones going

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is it. long note at the end.

You set the date for late January. It’ll give you enough time while you’re here to get all your affairs in order, and enough time in the future to settle in before John and Jane’s birthday. Jane books a conference room in Old Town Can City Hall for the same date for the next fifty years. It’s not a mistake. It’s just annual.

You start to plan.

First thing on the list is to celebrate your collective birthdays. You invite everyone up to your place in the mountains. You get a little bit snowed it, admittedly, but the snowball fight is worth it. Jane’s dad makes hot cocoa, Roxy builds the most elaborate snow fort you’ve ever seen, John dumps snow into your hood while you’re not looking and uses his windy powers to fly away from you faster than you can chase. You haven’t seen him laugh like that in a while. 

The next thing you do is finish Hal’s body. By the turn of the new year, he’s complete. He becomes a fixture in your house as you and Jake start to pack. Fixture is definitely the right word, you think, because he stands around, tries on the clothes you don’t want anymore, and makes comments. He puts things on high shelves, and makes fun of you when you have to get a step stool to reach them. You get to make fun of him back when he can’t quite figure out the motion of tying his shoes, though, so the revenge works out. He’s going with you. You owe him that.

You pack up the house. You start with the little things, figuring out what you don’t need and what you do. Jake insists on making sure everything is something he definitely does not need, but changes his mind half the time and digs through the discard bags to find them again. Packing up the larger stuff is a little more difficult. You take a captcha of the couch. It’s not yours, it came with the house when you started renting. You sell your truck. You’re going to miss it. You’re going to miss everything about this place: the air, the atmosphere, the town down the mountain, everything.

Jake suggests you two go for one last walk by the waterfall. You head out early, dead of winter, and find the stream mostly frozen over. The waterfall itself is frozen too, caught in a moment of action and stuck in time. You walk out onto the ice and touch it. Jake slips a few times, but he manages as well. You don’t know why you’re so emotional about this. Logically, you shouldn’t be. It’s a waterfall. You’re embarrassed and frustrated and your face feels hot and your eyes sting and you don’t get why. Jake holds your hand on the way home, and you can only describe the feeling you have that night as you sit alone in the kitchen as pure, unadulterated grief.

Finally, the hardest part. 

You message the college friend who invited you to the party.

TT: Happy New Year.  
NB: happy new year, dirk!  


timaeusTestified [TT] started pestering neonBrightly [NB]!  


TT: Hey.  
NB: hey!  
NB: whats up!  
NB: texting first twice thats rare /lh  
TT: Yeah, about that.  
TT: This is probably going to be the last time you hear from me.  
NB: ??  
TT: Not for any bad reasons. I’m fine.  
TT: I’m just. Going away.  
TT: For a while.  
TT: And wanted to let you know.  
NB: ...where are you going  
TT: Uh.  
TT: Funny story. About that.  
TT: It’s going to sound crazy.  
NB: i live with ali, dirk. wild crazy shit is the NORM here  
TT: Are you sure?  
NB: yes.  
TT: I’m going to the future.  
TT: About fifty years, to be exact.  


They’re typing. Your heart is pounding.  


NB: yknow  
NB: im not sure what i expected but that feels in character  
TT: Uh. Yeah.  
TT: And I. Y’know.  
TT: I haven’t been entirely honest with you. And the group in general.  
NB: about what?  


You take a deep breath, typing the next few words slowly. You’re nearly shaking as you hit send.  


TT: I’m one of the Creators.  


Their answer comes back immediately.  


NB: i know  


Uh. They… knew.  


TT: How?  
NB: we all knew  
NB: mark figured it out after you two hooked up  
NB: told the rest of us  
TT: How did Mark figure it out?  
NB: he said you had a scar around your neck that only one person historically did  
NB: and also that no one could survive getting a scar like that  
NB: and orange eyes are pretty uncommon  
NB: and the fact that your story was kinda shifty all around  
NB: the only thing that genuinely confirmed it was when other people started rumors about it once you dropped out  
NB: hearing “creator dirk strider goes to school here and i heard him on the phone with creator dave strider” and “dirk walker, the kid with orange eyes who never lets anyone see his neck, has dropped out of school and vanished” really made all the pieces click  
NB: also thats a shitty pun ali was so mad when she put it together  


Oh.  


TT: Oh.  
NB: so, yeah  
TT: Well. It’s all true.  
NB: so whats this about you going to the future  
TT: Right.  
TT: We’re going to, uh. Y’know. Get away from it all. The fame and stuff.  
TT: It’s…  
TT: Not good. For us.  
TT: There’s stuff we need to figure out in private.  


There’s a lump in your throat.  


TT: So, I wanted to say goodbye. Since you’re probably never going to see me again.  
NB: dirk…  
TT: And I wanted to say thank you. For being amazing friends while I was around.  
TT: And to you specifically for still reaching out when I dropped out. It meant a lot.  
NB: of course. you were our friend. i wasnt going to just stop reaching out to you  
TT: Even though you knew I was a god?  
NB: dude, especially because we knew you were a god  
NB: i just got a theology degree, dirk  
NB: ive read all the shit that said you were lonely as fuck  
NB: youre a god, but you were a kid too  
NB: you were a normal, awkward kid who wanted to make friends and go to school. i cant blame you for that  


You wipe your eyes, stuffing yourself into the corner of the couch, knees to your chest.  


TT: Thank you.  
TT: You were all amazing.  
TT: It meant a lot to me.  
NB: of course  
NB: should i tell everyone else that youre leaving?  
TT: Yes, please.  
TT: Give them all my love, and tell them I’m sorry I wasn’t able to visit in person.  
TT: I wanted to let someone know. So I wasn’t vanishing off the face of the Earth like a ghost.  
NB: okay  
NB: i will  
NB: thank you for letting me know  
TT: Sorry. This is probably super out of the blue.  
NB: well yeah but  
NB: you were always kind of a wildcard lmao  
NB: it was good to hear from you, dirk  
TT: It was good to hear from you, too.  
NB: stay safe out there kid  


You laugh wetly, vision blurred.  


TT: You too.  
TT: Thank you.  
NB: any time :)  
TT: Bye.  


timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering neonBrightly [NB]!  


* * *

The day arrives.

All of your things have been captchalogued and shrunken down by Jade to make them fit better. Your landlady comes to see you off, and is shocked to see  _ the  _ Jake English in her little house. She hugs you, which you didn’t expect, and whispers in your ear that Jake’s a keeper. You know. 

You’ve always known.

You meet everyone at Old Town Can City Hall. Everyone is coming with you. Everyone is going into the future, and you’re just fine with that. You’re happy about it. You’re  _ happy.  _

Dave gathers you all into the meeting room and you say your goodbyes to Jane’s named heir for Crockercorp. She’s a lovely lady. She’ll do fine and keeping the place in order. Dave takes out his time tables, standing at the center of the group. He looks to John, who nods. The room vanishes in a blur of red, and reforms right where you left it. The decor is different, the chairs and table clearly having been updated in your absence. 

It’s a sunny day outside.

It takes a long time to get through the bureaucratic nonsense of living in a new place. It’s a pain. DMVs are just as ridiculous in the future as they were when you left. But the world didn’t go to shit in those fifty years, so it’s alright.

You move into a large house in a Human Kingdom suburb, all of you, and it’s  _ good.  _ It’s  _ normal.  _ You get to be normal. You start freelancing again. Hal starts working in auto repair. Jake applies for schools. Rose and Kanaya go back to the brooding caverns to do administrative work. You have everyday lives. You’re everyday people. 

That first night, once you’ve moved in, you lay in bed with Jake and try to not think about all the things you left behind. All the people. All the sights and places and experiences. You don’t think about looking up your old classmates and seeing what they’re up to or if they’re even still alive. You don’t try to find your landlady’s obituary. You don’t think about how you never said goodbye to the art store cashier. You didn’t even know their name. A new wave of grief washes over you, and it hurts. It hurts more than it did the first time, it hurts more than you thought possible.

You buy groceries with your friends and celebrate when Jade gets her driver’s license and stay up stupid late watching movies with your brother and best friends. You go to a nice restaurant for Jane and John’s birthday, and Jane’s dad surprises you all with a cake when you get home. You start seeing someone to help you sort through your mental shit. She’s under doctor-patient confidentiality, and doesn’t react when you tell her you’re one of the Creators. She nods, and tells you to keep talking. She doesn’t understand, not fully, but she  _ gets  _ it. It starts to hurt less. John starts seeing someone in the same practice. You’re proud of him.

There are days when it hurts more. There are days when you almost pick up your phone, almost try to contact your old friends, but you don’t. You resist. There are days when it hurts more, but there are also days when it hurts less. When you can reminisce and not be too upset. When the good times aren’t tinted by the ever-present  _ loss  _ that comes with a situation like yours. You’re almost tempted to not make any friends outside the ones you have, to save yourself any more heartbreak. But then Jake’s inviting you to campus and you’re meeting  _ his  _ friends and you’re having fun with them and start caring. They treat you like any other twenty-something. They treat you like anyone else. 

You still get nightmares, sometimes. Jake does, too. But you’re there for one another and there’s always  _ someone  _ awake at any given hour. There’s always someone to talk to. To vent to, if you need. Sometimes you do need it.

It’s not permanent. Nothing is permanent. Eventually you’ll decide you want to move on, that you have to do more with your life or you figure out the problems with immortality mean you stop being able to be normal. Maybe you’ll go back and be gods. Maybe you’ll go back twenty-five years and be normal people again. Maybe you’ll just get older and become adults. 

You think you’d kind of hate that, actually. Just being a normal adult. Being a normal young adult, now that’s just fine, but working in an office? Having a boring life? You could never. 

It doesn’t matter, though. You’re twenty-two. You’ve go so much time to think, and so much time to live and so much time to experience things as they come. 

There’s nothing you wanted more. 

There’s nothing you’ve ever wanted more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so. here we are.
> 
> for starters: here's the song that the whole fic is based off of. personally, i prefer the broadway version just for the death of saint jimmy, and the original for the rest of it. im gonna link both. [broadway](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bYzSx9tSkDs), [original](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KevdP2uJOZ0). secondly, an enormous thank you, from the bottom of my heart, to heroboof, for being such a fantastic jake in the rp that started this off, and for letting me continue to write it.
> 
> now we get to the emotional shit. this chapter's shorter because it's a coda, and because i was kinda. yknow. crying my eyes out writing it. ive never been good at ending fics, and homestuck's been my thing since 2013. ive been able to feel myself moving on for a while, and it kind of sank in once my new hyperfixation took hold that i'm not as invested in homestuck as i used to be. the epilogues sure as hell didn't help, but i think its partially that ive grown up. this fic has, in part, been my goodbye. if this is the last thing i write for the fandom, i'll be happy with it. it hurts to leave, which also informed a good part of this chapter. 
> 
> homestuck, and to a further extent, the character of dirk strider has been a big part of who i am for a long, long time. it's what i used to get through middle and high school, and what i used to understand my mental health and relationships during that period. i projected a lot onto dirk and his relationship with jake. i lost contact with a friend in my personal life after high school, and while we'd settled all our issues, it's still affecting me. i dont know if im ever going to see them again, and in part, this fic is helping me accept that. i'm accepting that im growing up. if that means outgrowing homestuck, im alright with that. im glad i was able to leave with this fic.
> 
> finally, id like to thank ignis/kaleidescopeMediator, knowAll, holli, SquareSquid, CherryAndie, Xenamorph, and everyone else who ever commented on this fic. your support meant so much to me, and im glad i was able to bring a dirk-centered semi-fixit to all of you. i cant thank you all enough. 
> 
> i've been writing this since march. it's the longest thing ive ever written, and seeing it come to an end is a lot. it's been one hell of a year. thank you all for reading, and thank you homestuck for being there for me. if you see a style like mine under another name, dont bring it up, please. i want this to be separate. its been one hell of a run, and this is always going to be a part of me. thank you for reading. it means the world. 
> 
> \- leaf <3  
> 


	15. coda: sleep for days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _When you were young, you kept a list  
>  Of the things you miss  
> As you got older  
> I've known you in every life I've lived_  
> -["One Day Robots Will Cry,"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aTi1Uf0jBX4) Cobra Starship

There are many cultural things you have to acclimate to. Culture has moved a lot in fifty years. Jake takes to listening to the radio, learning every Top 40 hit by heart, even when they’re annoying as hell. He dances around the kitchen like a loser to the ones he finds most danceable, and makes you dance with him when your hands are free. You tell him he’s beautiful and he blushes like he’s never heard it before.

You’re able to find the electronica and dubstep pretty easily, but it appears that sometime while you were gone, there was some sort of synthpop-dancerock-punk revival. 

_ Fuck  _ yes. 

You search up every venue you can in the area, find out when they’re having shows, and drag Jake to as many as you can. Those earplugs he hoped up however long ago come in handy. He makes a half-decent punk. Muscle shirts and tight jeans, even if the dorky glasses offset the look dramatically. He even lets you do his eyeliner. 

You meet some of his college friends at the venue and they hoot and applaud when they see his outfit. You match, naturally, though your crop top is a slightly unseasonable. Jake keeps an arm around you to make up for it. You all get carded at the door; you’re designated driver tonight, for when his friends inevitably need rides home.

It’s live music night. You’ve heard a few songs from the main act, and they’re definitely your style. The crowd isn’t abuzz just yet, still milling around before the opener goes on. The place is slowly filling. You’re hanging towards the back for the moment - getting to the front isn’t a priority, even if it is kind of fun. Jake brings you an orange cream soda and kisses your temple when he pulls you in for a side-hug. You laugh and use your free hand to push at his chest. You feel his laugh more than you hear it, a vibration through his chest and a squeeze to pull you closer. 

The opener goes on and the crowd starts to press in. You spot some of Jake’s friends in the mix, dancing along. Still not in full swing, but this is the warm up. It’s decent music. You sip at your soda and tap your foot to the rhythm. When the first set ends, the crowd goes back to idle chatter and getting drinks. Jake strikes up a conversation with someone at the bar, gesturing with the hand currently free of cola. This isn’t really his scene, he admits, but he likes all kinds of music. And if it’s music his boyfriend recommended - and he squeezes you, here - he’s bound to like it. 

You finish your drinks. The lights start to dim. You grab Jake’s hand and drag him into the center of the crowd as they start to press forward. The band comes on and the cheers are immediate, loud but not overwhelming. The drum kicks in. The bassist starts to play. Your heart thuds in time with the music and - yes,  _ yes, this  _ is what it’s supposed to be about.  _ This  _ is where you were meant to be. You wouldn’t trade it for anything. This moment, right here, with the crowd starting to move and the beat pounding through your chest and Jake’s hand in yours. Someone grabs your other hand and meets your eyes.

_ You ready?  _

You nod and they pull you and you pull Jake into the swirling pit that’s opened up in the middle of the dance floor. You never thought you’d be comfortable in such a massive crush of bodies, of people shoving and spinning and bumping into one another with zero regard for anyone around them. 

The wind gets knocked out of you as you collide with another dancer, Jake’s grip tightening around your hand. In that moment, he’s caught between the lights, haloed green then red then blue then orange then green again.

He’s beaming. 

You’ve never felt so light in your life, you’ve never been more delighted. You’re stone cold fucking sober and this is the best feeling in the world. You laugh, and he laughs with you and you pull him to the side of the pit to kiss him. You can’t stop laughing, even as you try, the adrenaline still coursing through you. He kisses you one more time and gives you a good-natured shove.  _ Have fun,  _ he mouths, and you do just that.

You’re still buzzing as you stumble from the venue an hour later, out of breath and fucking drenched in sweat, feeling like you’d just run a marathon and ecstatic to do another one. You drop Jake’s friends back off at their places and drive home.

It’s cold enough to see your breath as you get out of the car, but you’re still warm enough to still not need that jacket. You feel electrified and that lightness in your chest hasn’t gone away. You’re not sure you ever want it to. You want to bottle this feeling up and keep it forever.

You take a quick shower and Jake does the same right after you, and you fall into bed giggling and almost giddy. The exhaustion will take you in a moment, but right now you’re too busy playing with his hair and asking if he had fun.

“Of course I did!” he says, digging his hands into your sides to get you where you’re most ticklish, “What kind of silly question is that?”

“You said it wasn’t your scene!” you whisper-protest, and he scoffs in the most Jake-like way you could imagine.

“Call me a huge cornball dweeb, but  _ you’re  _ my scene.”

“You’re a huge cornball dweeb, English,” you say. He pushes you playfully, and you push him back.

“But I mean it! Seeing you having fun like that? If you’d told me seven years ago that I’d be watching  _ cool kid Dirk Strider _ have the time of his life with the biggest, sunniest grin on his face the whole time, I wouldn’t have believed you!” You kiss him to get him to shut up, another embarrassed giggle escaping you. “Truly, the best kind of time.”

“I fucking love you,” you say, and he doesn’t hesitate to say it back.

Live music always gets you like this. When the exhaustion hits you, when the adrenaline wears off, you’re still happy. You’re still carefree and giggly and you stay that way even as you fall asleep and it’s the best sleep you’ve ever had.

Even when the feeling wears off, you know there will be another event to go to soon, another show, another pit. You don’t  _ need  _ to bottle the feeling up. You just need to  _ feel  _ it, and it’ll be alright.

The next morning, Jake explains his homework to you as you drink your morning cocoa. He bites the end of his pen as he thinks, and his eyes light up every time he comes across a point he finds interesting.

This is what it’s supposed to be about. This is where you were meant to be.

And you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a surprise to me as well. ive been on an INTENSE cobra starship kick the last couple days and this song is just too fucking perfect for them. someone whos emotionally cut off who fucked up in a relationship, only for it to be rekindled and brought back twice as strong once theyre older? "i know im like a machine but i still have dreams?" "i wont make the same mistakes?" "im dying not to hurt you?" PEAK dirkjake behavior. 
> 
> also can you tell i miss live music. its been one whole year almost exactly since i last saw a concert and i fucking miss it so much. not to sound like a scene kid (despite being one) but holy fuck i want to mosh dude.
> 
> anyway. i didnt expect to write this and probably wont do anymore? but the urge was Too Strong and i was Inspired. the song is just too perfect for them. please give it a listen, its got my whole heart right now. you know my spiel at the end. im just happy to be here. <3


End file.
